UC-NRLF 


LITTLE  JAISS 

yvND 


Stony 


&  C2 


EDOCATIOU  IIBB, 


THE  LIBRARY 

OF 

THE  UNIVERSITY 
OF  CALIFORNIA 

Education 

GIFT  OF 

Louise  Farrow  Barr 


r 


\ 

NURSE   HEV 


H 


5RD  ALE'S  STORY 


EDUC.- 
PSrCH. 


NURSE    HEATHERDALE'S    STORY 


AND 


LITTLE  MISS  PEGGY 


BY 

MRS.    MOLESWORTH 

AUTHOR   OF   "CARROTS,"   "GRANDMOTHER  DEAR,"   "TELL  ME  A  STORY  " 


ILLUSTRATED   BY  LESLIE  BROOKE  AND  WALTER   CRANE 


gorfe 
MACMILLAN    AND    CO. 

AND  LONDON 
1893 

All  rights  reserved 


COPYRIGHT,  1893, 
BY  MACMILLAN  AND  CO. 


New  uniform  edition  set  up  and  electrotyped  October,  1893. 

Education 

GIFT 


Norfoooi 

J.  S.  Gushing  &  Co.  —  Berwick  &  Smith. 
Boston,  Mass.,  U.S.A. 


1*13 


CONTENTS. 

NURSE  HEATHERDALE'S   STORY. 

CHAPTER  I.  - 
LOVE  AT  FIRST  SIGHT     ..... 

CHAPTER   II. 
AN  UNEXPECTED  PROPOSAL 15 

CHAPTER  in. 
TRELUAN  ....  .....      31 

CHAPTER  IV. 

A  NURSERY  TEA !        .        .44 

• 

CHAPTER  V. 
THE  SHOP  IN  THE  VILLAGE 57 

CHAPTER  VI. 
THE  SMUGGLERS'  CAVES  .  70 


315 


VI  CONTENTS. 

CHAPTER  VII 

PAGE 

A  RAINY  DAY 82 

CHAPTER  VIII. 
THE  OLD  LATIN  GRAMMAR 94 

CHAPTER  IX. 
UPSET  PLANS 106 

CHAPTER  X. 
THE  NEW  BABY .    117 

CHAPTER  XI. 
IN  DISGRACE  AGAIN 129 

CHAPTER  XII. 
LOST 143 

CHAPTER  XIII. 
"OLD  SIR  DAVID'S"  SECRET  .  157 


CONTENTS. 

LITTLE   MISS  PEGGY. 

CHAPTER  I. 

PAGE 

A  BREAKFAST  PARTY 1 

CHAPTER  II. 
THE  WHITE  SPOT  ON  THE  HILL     ...  .16 

CHAPTER  m. 
"  THE  CHILDREN  AT  THE  BACK  " 29 

CHAPTER  IV. 
"REAL"  FANCIES 42 

CHAPTER  V. 
THE  LITTLE  RED  SHOES 57 

CHAPTER  VI. 
FELLOW-FEELINGS  AND  SLIPPERS      .  .      71 


CONTENTS. 
CHAPTER   VII. 

PAGE 

A  BUN  TO  THE  GOOD       ....  86 

CHAPTER    VIII. 
UNDER  THE  BIG  UMBRELLA     .         .         .         .  IQQ 

CHAPTER  IX. 
THE  OPPOSITE  HOUSE 115 

CHAPTER  X. 

"  SOAP-BUBBLING  " 127 

CHAPTER  XL 
UP  FERNLEY  ROAD  .        .        .        .  142 

CHAPTER  XII. 
THE  SHOES-LADY  AGAIN         .....  156 


LIST   OF   ILLUSTRATIONS. 
NURSE  HEATHERDALE'S    STORY. 

SHE  WAS  SITTING  IN  THE  DAMF/S  OLD-FASH- 
IONED ARMCHAIR,  IN  THE  WINDOW  OF 
THE  LITTLE  ROOM  ;  THE  BRIGHT  SUMMER 
SUNSHINE  STREAMING  IN  BEHIND  HER  .  Frontispiece 

"HASN'T  HER  A  NICE  FACE?"         .        .          To  face  page  12 

THEN  THERE  BURST  UPON  THE  VIEW  A  WON- 
DERFUL SURPRISE "63 

Miss  BESS  AND  MASTER  FRANCIS  WERE  TALK- 
ING EAGERLY  WITH  OLD  PRIDEAUX  .  "70 

"  POOR  F'ANCIE,"   SHE  SAID  PITIFULLY.     "  So 

TIRED,  BABY  WANTS  TO  KISS  THOO  "        .  "          96 

"  AUNTIE  !  "  HE  SAID,  SMILING  A  VERY  LITTLE  ; 

"  HOW  PRETTY  YOU  LOOK  ! "  .        .  "        110 

SlR  HULBERT,  HOLDING  MASTER  FRANCIS 
WITH  ONE  ARM,  AND  THE  SIDE  OF  THE 
LADDER  WITH  THE  OTHER,  FOLLOWED  .  "  153 

ix 


LIST   OF  ILLUSTRATIONS. 
LITTLE  MISS  PEGGY. 

"  WHAT   is   THE   MATTER,    LITTLE    GIRLS  ? " 

SAID  THE  LADY Frontispiece 

HE  HAD  TO  DRUM  WITH  A  ^5POON,  FIRST  IN 
ONE  FAT  HAND  AND  THEN  IN  THE 
OTHER To  face  page  I 

THEY  WERE  SETTLED  ON  THE  HEARTH-RUG  — 

BABY  ON  PEGGY'S  LAP       ....  "14 

"  SEE,  HAL,"  SHE  SAID,  "  OVER  THERE,  FAR, 
FAR  AWAY,  NEELY  IN  THE  SKY,  DOES  YOU 
SEE  THAT  BLUEY  HILL?"  ....  "23 

SHE  WAS  RATHER  A  TERRIBLE-LOOKING  OLD 
WOMAN  ;  SHE  ALWAYS  WORE  A  SHORT  BED- 
GOWN .  .  .  AND  SHE  WAS  GENERALLY  TO 

BE  SEEN  WITH  A  PlPE  IN  HER  MOUTH     .  "          31 

"  TELL  ME  WHAT  THE  LITTLE  WHITE  HOUSE 

IS  REELY  LIKE  " "          45 

PEGGY  STOOD  STILL,  HER  EYES  FIXED  ON  THE 

BABY  SHOES "60 

"  HERE'S  THE  OTHER  SHOE,  I'VE  JUST  FOUNDED 

IT" "          80 

xi 


Xll  LIST   OF   ILLUSTRATIONS. 

SUDDENLY  A  WINDOW  ABOVE  OPENED,  AND 
MOTHER  WHELAN'S  BEFRILLED  FACE  WAS 
THRUST  OUT To  face  page  93 

AN    UMBRELLA    ROLLING    ITSELF    ABOUT    ON 

THE  PAVEMENT "          111 

"  To  BE  SURE,"  SHE  SAID,  IN  HER  MOST  GRA- 
CIOUS TONE.  "'Tis  THE  BEAUTIFUL  PIPES 
I  HAVE "  121 

THE  BOYS,  BOY-LIKE,  THOUGHT  LITTLE  BUT 
OF  WHO  COULD  BLOW  THE  BlGGEST  BUB- 

BLES «  130 

HUSHED  LIGHT  SMILEY  TO  SLEEP,  HER   ARM 

CLASPED  ROUND  PEGGY       ....          "          155 


SlIE  WAS  SITTING  IN  THE  DAME'S  OLD-FASHIONED  ARMCHAIR,  IN  THE  WINDOW 

OF  THE  LITTLE  ROOM  ;  THE  BRIGHT  SUMMER  SUNSHINE  STREAMING 

IN  BEHIND  HER.  —  page  27. 

—  Frontispiece. 


NURSE/HEATHER' 
DALE'S-STOKY'BY 
MR5-MOLE5WORTH 


ffflLLU5TRATED-BY 
L-LESLIE-BflOOKELff 
MACMILLAN-S-COf 
LONDON-MDCCCXCm; 


TO 

imt  Jaitfjful  Jrfenti 
GISELA 


LIKDFIELD,  August  22,  1891 


NURSE   HEATHERD  ALE'S    STORY. 

CHAPTER  I. 

LOVE  AT   FIRST   SIGHT. 

I  COULD  fancy  it  was  only  yesterday !  That  first 
time  I  saw  them.  And  to  think  how  many  years 
ago  it  is  really !  And  how  many  times  I  have  told 
the  story  —  or,  perhaps,  I  should  say  the  stories,  for 
after  all  it  is  only  a  string  of  simple  day-by-day 
events  I  have  to  tell,  though  to  me  and  to  the 
children  about  me  they  seem  so  interesting  and,  in 
some  ways,  I  think  I  may  sajr,  rather  out  of  the 
common.  So  that  now  that  I  am  getting  old,  or 
"  beginning  to  think  just  a  tiny  bit  about  some  day 
getting  old,"  which  is  the  only  way  Miss  Erica  will 
let  me  say  it,  and  knowing  that  nobody  else  can 
know  all  the  ins  and  outs  which  make  the  whole  just 
as  I  do,  and  having  a  nice  quiet  time  to  myself  most 
days  (specially  since  dear  tiresome  little  Master 
Ramsey  is  off  to  school  with  his  brothers),  I  am  going 
to  try  to  put  it  down  as  well  as  I  can.  My  "  as  well 
as  I  can  "  won't  be  anything  very  scholarly  or  fine,  I 

1 


2  NURSE  HEATHERDALE'S  STORY. 

know  well ;  but  if  one  knows  what  one  wants  to  say 
it  seems  to  me  the  words  will  come.  And  the  story 
will  be  there  for  the  dear  children,  who  are  never 
sharp  judging  of  old  Heather—  and  for  their  children 
after  them,  maybe. 

I  was  standing  at  our  cottage  door  that  afternoon 
—  a  beautiful  summer  afternoon  it  was,  early  in  June. 
I  was  looking  idly  enough  across  the  common,  for 
our  cottage  stood  —  stands  still,  perhaps  —  I  have  not 
been  there  for  many  a  year  —  just  at  the  edge  of 
Brayling  Common,  where  it  skirts  the  pine  woods, 
when  I  saw  them  pass.  Quite  a  little  troop  they 
looked,  though  they  were  scarcely  near  enough  for 
me  to  see  them  plainly.  There  was  the  donkey,  old 
Larkins's  donkey,  which  they  had  hired  for  the  time, 
with  a  tot  of  a  girl  riding  on  it,  the  page-boy  leading 
it,  and  a  nursemaid  walking  on  one  side,  and  on  the 
other  an  older  little  lady — somewhere  about  ten 
years  old  she  looked,  though  she  was  really  only 
eight.  What  an  air  she  had,  to  be  sure !  What  a 
grand  way  of  holding  herself  and  stepping  along  like 
a  little  princess,  for  all  that  she  and  her  sisters  were 
dressed  as  simple  as  simple.  Pink  cotton  frocks,  if  I 
remember  right,  a  bit  longer  in  the  skirts  than  our 
young  ladies  wear  them  now,  and  nice  white  cotton 
stockings,  —  it  was  long  before  black  silk  ones  were 
the  fashion  for  children,  — and  ankle-strap  shoes,  and 
white  sun-bonnets,  made  with  casers  and  cords,  nice 
and  shady  for  the  complexions,  though  you  really  had 


LOVE    AT    FIRST   SIGHT.  O 

to  be  close  to  before  you  could  see  a  child's  face 
inside  of  them.  And  some  way  behind,  another  little 
lady,  a  good  bit  shorter  than  Miss  Bess  —  I  meant  to 
give  all  their  names  in  order  later  on,  but  it  seems 
strange-like  not  to  say  it  —  and  looking  quite  three 
years  younger,  though  there  was  really  not  two  be- 
tween them.  And  alongside  of  her  a  boy,  thin  and 
pale  and  darkish-haired  —  that,  I  could  see,  as  he  had 
no  sun-bonnet  of  course,  only  a  cap  of  some  kind. 

He  too   was  a  good  bit  taller  than  Miss ,  the 

middle  young  lady  I  mean,  though  short  for  his  age, 
which  was  eleven  past.  They  were  walking  together, 
these  two  —  they  were  mostly  always  together,  and  I 
saw  that  the  boy  was  a  little  lame,  just  a  touch,  but 
enough  to  take  the  spring  out  of  his  step  that  one 
likes  to  see  in  a  young  thing.  And  though  I  couldn't 
see  her  face,  only  some  long  fair  curls,  long  enough 
to  come  below  the  cape  of  her  bonnet,  a  feeling  came 
over  me  that  the  child  beside  him  was  walking  slow, 
keeping  back  as  it  were,  on  purpose  to  bear  him 
company.  There  was  something  gentle  and  pitying- 
like  in  her  little  figure,  in  the  way  she  went  closer 
to  the  boy  and  took  his  hand  when  the  nurse  turned 
round  and  called  back  something — I  couldn't  hear 
the  words  but  I  fancied  the  tone  was  sharp  —  to  the 
two  children  behind,  which  made  them  press  forward 
a  little.  The  other  young  lady  turned  as  they  came 
nearer  and  said  something  with  a  sort  of  toss-up  of 
her  proud  little  head  to  the  nurse.  And  then  I  saw 


4  NURSE   HEATHERDALES    STORY. 

that  she  held  out  her  hand  to  her  younger  sister,  who 
kept  hold  all  the  same  of  the  boy's  hand  on  the  other 
side.  And  that  was  how  they  were  walking  when  they 
went  in  among  the  trees  and  were  lost  to  my  sight. 

But  I  still  stood  looking  after  them,  even  when 
there  was  nothing  more  of  them  to  be  seen.  Not 
even  the  dog  —  oh,  I  forgot  about  him  —  he  was  the 
very  last  of  the  party  —  a  brisk,  shortish  haired,  wiry- 
looking  rough  terrier,  who,  just  as  he  got  to  the 
entrance  of  the  wood,  turned  round  and  stood  for  a 
moment  barking,  for  all  the  world  as  if  he  might  be 
saying,  "  My  young  ladies  have  gone  a-walking  in 
the  wood  now,  and  nobody's  to  come  a-troubling 
of  them.  So  I  give  you  fair  notice."  He  did  think, 
did  Fusser,  that  was  his  name,  that  he  managed  all 
the  affairs  of  the  family.  Many  a  time  we've  laughed 
at  him  for  it. 

"  Dear  me,"  thought  I  to  myself,  "  I  could  almost 
make  a  story  out  of  those  young  ladies  and  gentle- 
man, though  I've  only  seen  them  for  a  minute,  or 
two  at  the  most." 

For  I  was  very  fond  of  children  even  then,  and 
knew  a  good  deal  about  their  ways,  though  not  so 
much  —  no,  nor  nothing  like  —  what  I  do  now ! 
But  I  was  in  rather  a  dreamy  sort  of  humour.  I  had 
just  left  my  first  place,  —  that  of  nursery-maid  with 
the  family  where  my  mother  had  been  before  me,  and 
where  I  had  stayed  on  older  than  I  should  have  done 
by  rights,  because  of  thinking  I  was  going  to  be 


LOVE  AT   FIRST   SIGHT.  5 

married.  And  six  months  before,  my  poor  Charles 
had  died  suddenly,  or  so  at  least  it  had  seemed  to  us 
all.  For  he  caught  cold,  and  it  went  to  his  chest, 
and  he  was  gone  in  a  fortnight.  The  doctor  said  for 
all  he  looked  strong,  he  was  really  sadly  delicate,  and 
it  was  bound  to  be  sooner  or  later.  It  may  have  been 
true,  leastways  the  doctor  meant  to  comfort  me  by 
saying  so,  though  I  don't  know  that  I  found  much 
comfort  in  the  thought.  Not  so  much  anyhow  as  "in 
mother's  simple  words  that  it  was  God's  will,  and  so 
it  must  be  right.  And  in  thinking  how  happy  we 
had  been.  Never  a  word  or  a  coldness  all  the  four 
years  we  were  plighted.  But  it  was  hard  to  bear, 
and  it  changed  all  my  life  for  me.  I  never  could 
bring  myself  to  think  of  another. 

Still  I  was  only  twenty-one,  and  after  I'd  been  at 
home  a  bit,  the  young  ladies  would  have  me  back  to 
cheer  me  up,  they  said.  I  travelled  with  them  that 
spring ;  but  when  they  all  went  up  to  London,  and 
Miss  Marian  was  to  be  married,  and  the  two  little 
ones  were  all  day  with  the  governess,  I  really  couldn't 
for  shame  stay  on  when  there  was  no  need  of  me. 
So,  though  with  many  tears,  I  came  home,  and  was 
casting  about  in  my  mind  what  I  had  best  do  — 
mother  being  hale  and  hearty,  and  no  call  for  dress- 
making of  a  plain  kind  in  our  village  —  that  afternoon, 
when  I  stood  watching  the  stranger  little  gentry  and 
old  Larkins's  donkey  and  the  dog,  as  they  crossed  the 
common  into  the  fir-wood. 


6  NURSE  HEATHERDALE'S  STORY. 

It  was  mother's  voice  that  woke  me  up,  so  to  say. 

"  Martha,"  she  called  out  in  her  cheery  way, 
"what's  thee  doing,  child?  I'm  about  tidied  up; 
come  and  get  thy  work,  and  let's  sit  down  a  bit 
comfortable.  I  don't  like  to  see  thee  so  down-like, 
and  such  bright  summer  weather,  though  mayhap  the 
very  sunshine  makes  it  harder  for  thee,  poor  dear." 

And  she  gave  a  little  sigh,  which  was  a  good  deal 
for  her,  for  she  was  not  one  as  made  much  talk  of 
feelings  and  sorrows.  It  seemed  to  spirit  me  up 
somehow. 

"  I  wasn't  like  that  just  now,  mother,"  I  said  cheer- 
fully. "I've  been  watching  some  children  —  gentry 
—  going  over  the  common  —  three  little  young  ladies 
and  a  boy,  and  Larkins's  donkey.  They  made  me 
think  of  Miss  Charlotte  and  Miss  Marian  when  first 
I  went  there,  though  plainer  dressed  a  good  deal  than 
our  young  ladies  were.  But  real  gentry,  I  should 
say." 

"  And  you'd  say  right,"  mother  answered.  "  They 
are  lodging  at  Widow  Nutfold's,  quite  a  party  of 
them.  Their  father's  Sir ;  dear,  dear,  I've  for- 
got the  name,  but  he's  a  barrowk night,  and  the 
family's  name  is  Penrose.  They  come  from  some- 
where far  off,  near  by  the  sea  —  quite  furrin  parts, 
I  take  it." 

"Not  out  of  England,  you  don't  mean,  do  you?" 
I  asked.  For  mother,  of  course,  kept  all  her  old 
country  talk,  while  I,  with  having  been  so  many 


LOVE   AT   FIRST    SIGHT.  7 

years  with  Miss  Marian  and  her  sisters,  and  treated 
more  like  a  friend  than  a  servant,  and  great  pains 
taken  with  my  reading  and  writing,  had  come  to 
speak  less  old-fashioned,  so  to  say,  and  to  give  the 
proper  meaning  to  my  words.  "  Foreign  parts  really 
means  out  of  this  country,  where  they  talk  French  or 
Italian,  you  know,  mother." 

But  mother  only  shook  her  head. 

"  Nay,"  she  said,  "  I  mean  what  I  say.  Furrin 
parts  is  furrin  parts.  I  wouldn't  say  as  they  come 
from  where  the  folks  is  nigger  blacks,  or  from  old 
Boney's  country  neither,  as  they  used  to  frighten  us 
about  when  I  was  a  child.  But  these  gentry  come 
from  furrin  parts.  Why,  I  had  it  from  Sarah  Nut- 
fold's  own  lips,  last  Saturday,  as  never  was,  at 
Brayling  market,  and  old  neighbours  of  forty  years ; 
it's  not  sense  to  think  she  go  for  to  deceive  me." 

Mother  was  just  a  little  offended,  I  could  see,  and 
I  thought  to  myself  I  must  take  care  of  seeming  to 
set  her  right. 

"  Of  course  not,"  I  said.  "  You  couldn't  have  it 
surer  than  from  Mrs.  Nutfold.  I  dare  say  she's 
pleased  to  have  them  to  cheer  her  up  a  bit.  They 
seem  nice  little  ladies  to  look  at,  though  they're  on 
the  outside  of  plain  as  to  their  dress." 

"  And  more  sense,  too,"  said  mother.  "  I  always 
thought  our  young  ladies  too  expensive,  though 
where  money's  no  consideration,  'tis  a  temptation  to 
a  lady  to  dress  up  her  children,  I  suppose." 


8  NURSE  HEATHERDALE'S  STORY. 

"  But  they  were  never  over-dressed,"  I  said,  in  my 
turn,  a  little  ruffled.  "Nothing  could  be  simpler 
than  their  white  frocks  to  look  at." 

"  Ay,  to  look  at,  I'll  allow,"  said  mother.  "  But 
when  you  come  to  look  into  them,  Martha,  it  was 
another  story.  Embroidery  and  tucks  and  real 
Walansian ! "  and  she  held  up  her  hands.  "  Still 
they've  got  it,  and  they've  a  right  to  spend  it,  seein' 
too  as  they're  generous  to  those  who  need.  But 
these  little  ladies  at  Sarah's  are  not  rich,  I  take  it. 
There  was  a  deal  of  settlin'  about  the  prices  when 
my  lady  came  to  take  the  rooms.  She  and  the 
gentleman's  up  in  London,  but  one  or  two  of  the 
children  got  ill  and  needed  country  air.  It's  a  heavy 
charge  on  Sarah  Nutfold,  for  the  nurse  is  not  one  of 
the  old  sort,  and  my  lady  asked  Sarah,  private-like, 
to  have  an  eye  on  her." 

"  There  now,"  I  cried,  "  I  could  have  said  as  much ! 
The  way  she  turned  just  now  so  sharp  on  the  poor 
boy  and  the  middle  little  lady.  I  could  see  she 
wasn't  one  of  the  right  kind,  though  I  didn't  hear 
what  she  said.  No  one  should  be  a  nurse,  or  have 
to  do  with  children,  mother,  who  doesn't  right  down 
love  them  in  her  heart." 

"  You're  about  right  there,  Martha,"  mother 
agreed. 

Just  then  father  came  in,  and  we  sat  round,  the 
three  of  us,  to  our  tea. 

"It's  a  pleasure  to  have  thee  at  home  again,  my 


LOVE   AT   FIRST   SIGHT.  9 

girl,  for  a  bit,"  he  said.  And  the  kind  look  in  his 
eyes  made  me  feel  both  cheered  and  sad  together. 
It  was  the  first  day  I  had  been  with  them  at  tea- 
time,  for  I  had  got  home  pretty  late  the  night  before. 
"And  I  hope  it'll  be  a  longish  bit  this  time,"  he  went 
on. 

I  gave  a  little  sigh. 

"  I'd  like  to  stay  a  while ;  but  I  don't  know  that 
it  would  be  good  for  me  to  stay  very  long,  father, 
thank  you,"  I  said.  "  I'm  young  and  strong  and  fit 
for  work,  and  I'd  like  to  feel  I  was  able  to  help  you 
and  mother  if  ever  the  time  comes  that  you're 
laid  by." 

"  Please  God  we'll  never  need  help  of  that  kind, 
my  girl,"  said  father.  "  But  it's  best  to  be  at  work, 
I  know,  when  one's  had  a  trouble.  The  day'll  maybe 
come,  Martha,  when  you'll  be  glad  to  have  saved  a 
little  more  for  a  home  of  your  own,  after  all.  So 
I'd  not  be  the  one  to  stand  in  your  way,  a  few 
months  hence  —  nor  mother  neither  —  if  a  good  place 
offers." 

"  Thank  you,  father,"  I  said  again;  ubut  the  only 
home  of  my  own  I'll  ever  care  for  will  be  here  —  by 
mother  and  you." 

And  so  it  proved. 

I  little  thought  how  soon  father's  words  about  not 
standing  in  my  way  if  a  nice  place  offered  would  be 
put  to  the  test. 

I  saw  the  children  who  were  lodging  at  Mrs.  Nut- 


10  NURSE  HEATHERDALE'S  STORY. 

fold's  several  times  in  the  course  of  the  next  week  or 
two.  They  seemed  to  have  a  great  fancy  for  the  pine- 
woods,  and  from  where  they  lived  they  could  not,  to 
get  to  them,  but  pass  across  the  common  within  sight 
of  our  cottage.  And  once  or  twice  I  met  them  in 
the  village  street.  Not  all  of  them  together  —  once 
it  was  only  the  two  youngest  with  the  nurse ;  they 
were  waiting  at  the  door  of  the  post-office,  which  was 
also  the  grocer's  and  the  baker's,  while  she  was  inside 
chattering  and  laughing  a  deal  more  than  she'd  any 
call  to,  it  seemed  to  me.  (I'm  afraid  I  took  a  real 
right-down  dislike  to  that  nurse,  which  isn't  a  proper 
thing  to  do  before  one  has  any  certain  reason  for  it.) 
And  dear  little  ladies  they  looked,  though  the  elder 
one  —  that  was  the  middle  one  of  the  three  —  had 
rather  an  anxious  expression  in  her  face,  that  struck 
me.  The  baby  —  she  was  nearly  three,  but  I  heard 
them  call  her  baby  —  was  a  little  fat  bundle  of  smiles 
and  dimples.  I  don't  think  even  a  cross  nurse  would 
have  had  power  to  trouble  her  much. 

Another  time  it  was  the  two  elder  girls  and  the 
lame  boy  I  met.  It  was  a  windy  day,  and  the  eldest 
Missy's  big  flapping  bonnet  had  blown  back,  so  I  had 
a  good  look  at  her.  She  was  a  beautiful  child  —  blue 
eyes,  very  dark  blue,  or  seeming  so  from  the  clear 
black  eyebrows  and  thick  long  eyelashes,  and  dark 
almost  black  hair,  with  just  a  little  wave  in  it ;  not 
so  long  or  curling  as  her  sister's,  which  was  out-of- 
the-way  beautiful  hair,  but  seeming  somehow  just  to 


LOVE   AT   FIKST   SIGHT.  11 

suit  her,  as  everything  about  her  did.  She  came 
walking  along  with  the  proud  springing  step  I  had 
noticed  that  first  day,  and  she  was  talking  away  to 
the  others  as  if  to  cheer  and  encourage  them,  even 
though  the  boy  was  full  three  years  older  than  she, 
and  supposed  to  be  taking  charge  of  her  and  her 
sister,  I  fancy. 

"  Nonsense,  Franz,"  she  was  saying  in  her  decided 
spoken  way,  "  nonsense.  I  won't  have  you  and  Lally 
treated  like  that.  And  I  don't  care  —  I  mean  I  can't 
help  if  it  does  trouble  mamma.  Mammas  must  be 
troubled  about  their  children  sometimes ;  that's  what 
being  a  mamma  means." 

I  managed  to  keep  near  them  for  a  bit.  I  hope 
it  was  not  a  mean  taking-advantage.  I  have  often 
told  them  of  it  since  —  it  was  really  that  I  did  feel 
such  an  interest  in  the  dear  children,  and  my  mind 
misgave  me  from  the  first  about  that  nurse  —  it  did 
so  indeed. 

"If  only —  "  said  the  boy  with  a  tiny  sigh.  But 
again  came  that  clear-spoken  little  voice,  "Nonsense, 
Franz." 

I  never  did  hear  a  child  of  her  age  speak  so  well 
as  Miss  Bess.  It's  pretty  to  hear  broken  talking  in 
a  child  sometimes,  lisping,  and  some  of  the  funny 
turns  they'll  give  their  words ;  but  it's  even  prettier 
to  hear  clear  complete  talk  like  hers  in  a  young 
child. 

Then  came  a  gentle,  pitiful  little  voice. 


12  NURSE   HEATHERD ALE'S   STORY. 

"  It  isn't  nonsense,  Queen,  darling.  It's  howid  for 
Franz,  but  it  wasn't  nonsense  he  was  going  to  say. 
I  know  what  it  was,"  and  she  gave  the  boy's  hand  a 
little  squeeze. 

"  It  was  only  —  if  aunty  was  my  mamma,  Bess, 
but  you  know  she  isn't.  And  aunts  aren't  forced  to 
be  troubled  about  not  their  own  children." 

"Yes  they  are,"  the  elder  girl  replied.  "At  least 
when  they're  instead  of  own  mammas.  And  then,  you 
know,  Franz,  it's  not  only  you,  it's  Lally  too,  and  —  " 

That  was  all  I  heard.  I  couldn't  pretend  to  be 
obliged  to  walk  slowly  just  behind  them,  for  in 
reality  I  was  rather  in  a  hurry,  so  I  hastened  past ; 
but  just  as  I  did  so,  their  little  dog,  who  was  with 
them,  looked  up  at  me  with  a  friendly  half-bark, 
half-growl.  That  made  the  children  smile  at  me 
too,  and  for  the  life  of  me,  even  if  'twas  not  good 
manners,  I  couldn't  help  smiling  in  return. 

"  Hasn't  her  a  nice  face  ? "  I  heard  the  second 
little  young  lady  say,  and  it  sent  me  home  with 
quite  a  warm  feeling  in  my  heart. 

It  was  about  a  week  after  that,  when  one  evening 
as  we  were  sitting  together  —  father,  mother,  and  I  — 
and  father  was  just  saying  there'd  be  daylight  enough 
to  need  no  candles  that  night  —  we  heard  the  click  of 
the  little  garden  gate,  and  a  voice  at  the  door  that 
mother  knew  in  a  moment  was  Widow  Nutfold's. 

"Good-evening  to  you,  Mrs.  Heatherdale,"  she  said, 
"  and  many  excuses  for  disturbing  of  you  so  late,  but 


; HASN'T  HER  A  NICE  FACE?"— p.  12. 


LOVE  AT   FIRST   SIGHT.  13 

I'm  that  put  about.  Is  your  Martha  at  home  ?  — 
thank  goodness,  my  dear,"  as  I  come  forward  out  of 
the  dusk  to  speak  to  her.  u  It's  more  you  nor  your 
good  mother  I've  come  after ;  you'll  be  thinking  I'm 
joking  when  you  hear  what  it  is.  Can  you  slip  on 
your  bonnet  and  come  off  with  me  now  this  very 
minute  to  help  with  my  little  ladies  ?  Would  you 
believe  it  —  that  their  good-for-nothing  girl  is  off  — 
gone  —  packed  up  this  very  evening  —  and  left  me 
with  'em  all  on  my  hands,  and  Miss  Baby  beginning 
with  a  cold  on  her  chest,  and  Master  Francis  all  but 
crying  with  the  rheumatics  in  his  poor  leg.  And 
even  the  page-boy,  as  was  here  at  first,  was  took  back 
to  London -last  week." 

The  good  woman  held  up  her  hands  in  despair, 
and  then  by  degrees  we  got  the  whole  story  —  how 
the  nurse  had  not  been  meaning  to  stay  longer  than 
suited  her  own  convenience,  but  had  concealed  this 
from  her  lady ;  and  having  heard  by  a  letter  that 
afternoon  of  another  situation  which  she  could  have 
if  she  went  at  once,  off  she  had  gone,  in  spite  of  all 
poor  Widow  Nutfold  could  say  or  do. 

"  She  took  a  dislike  to  me  seein'  as  I  tried  to  look 
after  her  a  bit  and  to  stop  her  nasty  cross  ways,  and 
she  told  me  that  impertinent,  as  I  wanted  to  be 
nurse,  I  might  be  it  now.  She  has  a  week  or  two's 
money  owing  her,  but  she  was  that  scornful  she  said 
she'd  let  it  go  ;  she  had  been  a  great  silly  for  taking 
the  place." 


14  NURSE  HEATHERDALE'S  STORY. 

"  But  she  might  be  had  up  and  made  to  give  back 
some  of  her  wages,"  said  father. 

"  Sir  Hulbert  and  my  lady  are  not  that  sort,  and 
she  knows  it,"  said  Mrs.  Nutfold.  "  The  wages  was 
pretty  fair  —  it  was  the  dulness  of  the  life  down  in 
Cornwall  the  girl  objected  to  most,  I  fancy." 

"  Cornwall,"  repeated  mother.  "  There  now,  Mar- 
tha, if  that  isn't  furrin  parts,  I  don't  know  what  is." 

But  I  hadn't  time  to  say  any  more.  I  hurried  on 
my  shawl  and  bonnet,  and  rolled  up  an  apron  or  two, 
and  slipped  a  cap  into  a  bandbox,  and  there  I  was. 

"Good-night,  mother,"  I  said.  "I'll  look  round  in 
the  morning  —  and  I  don't  suppose  I'll  be  wanted  to 
stay  more  than  a  day  or  two.  My  lady's  sure  to  find 
some  one  at  once,  being  in  London  too." 

"  I  should  think  so,"  said  old  Sarah,  but  there  was 
something  in  her  tone  I  did  not  quite  understand. 


CHAPTER  II. 

AN  UNEXPECTED  PROPOSAL. 

WE  hurried  across  the  common  —  it  was  still  day- 
light, though  the  sun  had  set  some  little  time.  The 
red  and  gold  were  still  lingering  in  the  sky  and  cast- 
ing a  beautiful  glow  on  the  heather  and  the  gorse 
bushes.  For  Brayling  Common  is  not  like  what  the 
word  makes  most  people  think  of  —  there's  no  grass 
at  all  —  it's  all  heather  and  gorse,  and  here  and  there 
clumps  of  brambles,  and  low  down  on  the  sandy  soil 
all  sorts  of  hardy,  running,  clinging  little  plants  that 
ask  for  nothing  but  sunshine  and  air.  For  of  moist- 
ure there's  but  scanty  supply;  it  no  sooner  rains 
than  it  dries  up  again.  But  oh  it  is  beautiful  —  the 
colours  of  it  I've  never  seen  equalled  —  not  even 
in  Italy  or  Switzerland,  where  I  went  with  my  first 
ladies,  as  I  said  before.  The  heather  seems  to  change 
its  shade  a  dozen  times  a  day,  as  well  as  with  every 
season  —  according  as  the  sky  is  cloudy  or  bright,  or 
the  sun  overhead  or  on  his  way  up  or  down.  I  can- 
not say  it  the  right  way,  but  I  know  that  many  far 
cleverer  than  me  would  feel  the  same;  you  may 
travel  far  before  you'd  see  a  sweeter  piece  of  nature 

15 


16  NURSE  HEATHERDALE'S  STORY. 

than  our  common,  with  its  wonderful  changefulness 
and  yet  always  beautiful. 

There's  little  footpaths  in  all  directions,  as  well  as 
a  few  wider  tracks.  It  takes  strangers  some  time  to 
learn  their  way,  I  can  tell  you.  The  footpaths  are 
seldom  wide  enough  for  two,  so  it's  a  queer  sort  of 
backwards  and  forwards  talking  one  has  to  be  con- 
tent with.  And  we  walked  too  fast  to  have  breath 
for  much,  only  Widow  Nutfold  would  now  and  then 
throw  back  to  me,  so  to  say,  some  odds  and  ends  of 
explaining  about  the  children  that  she  thought  I'd 
best  know. 

"  They're  dear  young  ladies,"  she  said,  "  though 
Miss  Elisabeth  is  a  bit  masterful  and  Miss  Baby  — 
Augusta's  her  proper  name  —  a  bit  spoilt.  Take 
them  all  together,  I  think  Miss  Lally's  my  favourite, 
or  would  be  if  she  was  a  little  happier,  poor  child ! 
I  can't  stand  whiney  children." 

I  smiled  to  myself — I  knew  that  the  good  woman's 
experience  of  children  was  not  great  —  she  had  mar- 
ried late  and  never  had  one  of  her  own.  It  was  real 
goodness  -that  made  her  take  such  an  interest  in  the 
little  Penroses. 

"  Poor  child,"  I  said,  "  perhaps  the  cross  nurse  has 
made  her  so,"  at  which  Sarah  gave  a  sort  of  grunt. 
"  What  is  her  real  name  —  the  middle  young  lady's, 
I  mean  ?  " 

"  Oh,  bless  you,  I  couldn't  take  upon  me  to  say  it 
—  it's  too  outlandish.  Miss  Lally  we  call  her  — 


AN   UNEXPECTED   PROPOSAL.  17 

and  I  could  hear  that  Mrs.  Nutfold's  breath  was 
getting  short  —  she  was  stout  in  her  later  years  — 
and  that  she  was  a  little  cross.  "  You  must  ask  for 
yourself,  Martha." 

So  I  said  no  more,  though  I  had  wanted  to  hear 
about  the  boy,  who  had  spoken  of  their  mother  as 
his  aunty,  and  how  he  had  come  to  be  so  delicate 
and  lame.  And  in  a  few  moments  more  we  found 
ourselves  at  the  door  of  Clover  Cottage ;  that  was 
Mrs.  Nutfold's  house,  though  "  Bramble  Cottage " 
would  have  suited  it  better,  standing  where  it  did. 

She  took  the  key  out  of  her  pocket. 

"I  locked  them  in,"  she  said,  nodding  her  head, 
"  though  they  didn't  know  it." 

"  Gracious,"  says  I,  "  you  don't  mean  as  the  children 
are  all  alone  ?  " 

"To  be  sure  —  who'd  be  with  them?  I  wasn't 
going  to  make  a  chatter  all  over  the  place  about  that 
impident  woman  a-goin'  off.  And  Bella,  my  girl, 
goes  home  at  five.  'Twas  after  she  left  there  was  all 
the  upset." 

I  felt  rather  startled  at  hearing  this.  Suppose 
they  had  set  themselves  on  fire !  But  old  Sarah 
seemed  quite  easy  in  her  mind,  as  she  opened  'the 
door  and  went  in,  me  following. 

'Twas  a  nice  roomy  cottage,  and  so  clean.  Be- 
sides the  large  kitchen  at  one  side,  with  a  good 
back-kitchen  behind  it,  and  a  tidy  bedroom  for  Mrs. 
Nutfold,  there  was  a  fair-sized  parlour,  with  casement 


18  NURSE  HEATHERD ALE'S   STORY. 

windows  and  deep  window-seats  —  all  old-fashioned, 
but  roomy  and  airy.  And  upstairs  two  nice  bed- 
rooms and  a  small  one.  I  knew  it  well,  having 
been  there  off  and  on  to  help  Mrs.  Nutfold  with  her 
lodgers  at  the  busy  season  before  I  went  away  to  a 
regular  place.  So  I  was  a  little  surprised  when  she 
turned  to  the  kitchen,  instead  of  opening  the  parlour 
door.  And  at  first,  what  with  coming  out  of  the 
half-light  and  the  red  glow  still  in  my  eyes,  and 
what  with  that  there  Fusser  setting  upon  me  with 
such  a  barking  and  jumping  —  all  meant  for  a  wel- 
come, I  soon  found  —  as  never  was,  I  scarce  could 
see  or  hear.  But  I  soon  got  myself  together  again. 

"  Down  Fusser,  naughty  Fuss,"  said  the  children, 
and,  "  he  won't  bite,  it's  only  meant  for  '  How  do  you 
do  ? '  "  said  the  eldest  girl.  And  then  she  turned  to 
me  as  pretty  as  might  be.  "Is  this  Martha?"  says 
she,  holding  out  her  little  hand.  "  I  am  pleased  to 
see  you.  It's  very  good  of  you,  and  oh,  Mrs.  Nut- 
fold,  I'm  so  glad  you've  come  back.  Baby  is  getting 
so  sleepy." 

Poor  little  soul  —  so  she  was.  They  had  set  her 
up  on  Sarah's  old  rocking-chair  near  the  fire  as  well 
as  they  could,  to  keep  her  warm  because  of  her  cold, 
and  it  was  a  chilly  evening  rather.  But  it  was  past 
her  bed-time,  and  she  was  fractious  with  all  the 
upset.  I  just  was  stooping  down  to  look  at  her 
when  she  gave  a  little  cry  and  held  out  her  arms  to 
me.  "Baby  so  tired,"  she  said,  "want  to  go  to  bed." 


AN  UNEXPECTED  PROPOSAL.         19 

"And  so  you  shall,  my  love,"  I  said.  "I'll  have 
off  my  bonnet  in  a  moment,  and  then  Martha  will 
put  Miss  Baby  to  bed  all  nice  and  snug." 

"  Marfa,"  said  a  little  voice  beside  me.  It  was  the 
middle  young  lady.  "I  like  that  name,  don't  you, 
Francie?" 

That  was  the  boy  —  they  were  all  there,  poor 
dears.  Old  Sarah  had  thought  they'd  be  cosier  in 
the  kitchen  while  she  was  out.  I  smiled  back  at 
Miss  Lally,  as  they  called  her.  She  was  standing 
by  Master  Francis;  both  looking  up  at  me,  with  a 
kind  of  mixture  of  hope  and  fear,  a  sort  of  asking, 
"  Will  she  be  good  to  us  ? "  in  their  faces,  which 
touched  me  very  much.  Master  Francis  was  not  a 
pretty  child  like  the  others.  He  was  pale  and  thin, 
and  his  eyes  looked  too  dark  for  his  face.  He  was 
small  too,  no  taller  than  Miss  Bess,  and  with  none 
of  her  upright  hearty  look.  But  when  he  smiled 
his  expression  was  very  sweet.  He  smiled  now, 
with  a  sort  of  relief  and  pleasure,  and  I  saw  that  he 
gave  a  little  squeeze  to  Miss  Lally 's  hand,  which  he 
was  holding. 

"Yes,"  he  said,  "it's  a  nice  name.  The  other 
nurse  was  called  4  Sharp ; '  it  suited  her  too,"  with  a 
twinkle  in  his  eyes  I  was  pleased  to  see.  "  Lally 
can't  say  her  c  th's '  properly,"  he  went  on,  as  if  he 
was  excusing  her  a  little,  "  nor  her  '  r's '  sometimes, 
though  Bess  and  I  are  trying  to  teach  her." 

"  It's  so  babyish  at  her  age,  nearly  six,  not  to  speak 


20  tfUftsE  HEATHERDALE'S  STORY. 


properly,"  said  Miss  Bess,  with  her  little  toss  of  the 
head,  at  which  Miss  Lally's  face  puckered  up,  and 
the  corners  of  her  mouth  went  down,  and  I  saw 
what  Sarah  Nutfold  meant  by  saying  she  was  rather 
a  "  whiney  "  child.  I  didn't  give  her  time  for  more 
just  then.  I  had  got  Miss  Baby  up  in  my  arms, 
where  she  was  leaning  her  sleepy  head  on  my 
shoulder  in  her  pretty  baby  way.  I  felt  quite  in  my 
right  place  again. 

"  Come  along,  Miss  Lally,  dear,"  I  said.  "  It  must 
be  your  bed-time  too,  and  if  you'll  come  upstairs  with 
Miss  Baby  and  me,  you'll  be  able  to  show  me  all  the 
things  —  the  baths,  and  the  sponges,  and  everything 
—  won't  that  be  nice  ?  " 

She  brightened  up  in  a  moment  —  dear  child,  it's 
always  been  like  that  with  her.  Give  her  a  hint  of 
anything  she  could  do  for  others,  and  she'd  forget  her 
own  troubles  —  fancy  or  real  ones  —  that  minute. 

"The  hot  water's  all  ready,"  said  Mrs.  Nutfold. 
"  I  kep'  the  fire  up,  so  as  you  shouldn't  have  no 
trouble  I  could  help,  Martha,  my  dear." 

And  then  the  three  of  us  went  upstairs  to  the  big 
room  at  the  back,  where  I  was  to  sleep  with  Miss 
Baby  in  her  cot,  and  which  we  called  the  night 
nursery.  Miss  Lally  was  as  bright  as  a  child  could 
be,  and  that  handy  and  helpful.  But  more  than 
once  I  heard  a  sigh  come  from  the  very  depths  of 
her  little  heart,  it  seemed. 

"  Sharp  never  lettened  me  help  wif  Baby  going  to 
bed,  this  nice  way,"  she  said,  and  sighed  again. 


AN   UNEXPECTED   PROPOSAL.  21 

"Never  mind  about  Sharp,  my  dear,"  I  said.  "She 
had  her  ways,  and  Martha  has  hers.  What  are  you 
sighing  about?" 

"  I'm  so  f wightened  her'll  come  back  and  you  go, 
Marfa,"  she  said,  nestling  up  to  me.  Baby  was  safe 
in  bed  by  now,  prayers  said  and  all.  "And  —  I'm 
sleepy,  but  I  don't  like  going  to  bed  till  Queen 
comes." 

"  Who  may  she  be,  my  dear  ?  "  I  asked,  and  then 
I  remembered  their  talking  that  day  in  the  street. 
"  Oh,  it's  Miss  Bess,  you  mean." 

"  Yes  —  it's  in  the  English  history,"  said  the  child, 
making  a  great  effort  over  the  "  r."  "  There  was  a 
queen  they  called  '  Good  Queen  Bess,'  so  I  made 
that  my  name  for  Bess.  But  mamma  laughed  one 
day  and  said  that  queen  wasn't  'good.'  I  was  so 
sorry.  So  I  just  call  Bess  '  Queen '  for  short.  And 
I  say  4  good '  to  myself,  for  my  Bess  is  good ;  only  I 
wish  she  wouldn't  be  vexed  when  I  don't  speak 
words  right,"  and  again  the  little  creature  sighed  as 
if  all  the  burdens  of  this  weary  world  were  on  her 
shoulders. 

"  It's  that  Miss  Bess  wants  you  to  speak  as  cleverly 
as  she  does,  I  suppose.  It'll  come  in  time,  no  fear. 
When  I  was  a  little  girl  I  couldn't  say  the  letter 
4 1,'  try  as  I  might.  I  used  to  leave  it  out  altogether 
—  I  remember  one  day  telling  mother  I  had  seen 
such  a  sweet  4  ittie  'amb '  —  I  meant  4  little  lamb.'  " 

"  Oh,  how  funny,"  said  Miss  Lally  laughing.     She 


22  NURSE  HEATHERDALE'S  STORY. 

was  always  ready  to  laugh.  "  It's  a  good  thing  I  can 
say  '  1's,'  isn't  it  ?  My  name  wouldn't  be  —  nothing 
-  would  it?  —without  the  '  IV  " 

"  But  it's  only  a  short,  isn't  it,  Missy?  "  I  said. 

"  Yes,  my  we&\  name  is  4  Lalage.'  Do  you  fink  it's 
a  pretty  name  ?  "  she  said.  She  was  getting  sleepy, 
and  it  was  too  much  trouble  to  worry  about  her 
speaking. 

"  Yes,  indeed,  I  think  it's  a  sweet  name.  So  soft  and 
gentle  like,"  I  said,  which  pleased  her,  I  could  see. 

"  Papa  says  so  too  —  but  mamma  doesn't  like  it  so 
much.  It  was  Francie's  mamma's  name,  but  she's 
dead.  And  poor  Francie's  papa's  dead  too.  He  was 
papa's  brother,"  said  Miss  Lally,  in  her  old-fashioned 
way.  There  was  a  funny  mixture  of  old-fashioned- 
ness  and  simple,  almost  baby  ways  about  all  those 
children.  I've  never  known  any  quite  like  them. 
No  doubt  it  came  in  part  from  their  being  brought 
up  so  much  by  themselves,  and  having  no  other 
companions  than  each  other.  But  from  the  first  I 
always  felt  they  were  dear  children,  and  more  than 
common  interesting. 

A  few  days  passed  —  very  quiet  and  peaceful,  and 
yet  full  of  life  too  they  seemed  to  me.  I  felt  more 
like  myself  again,  as  folks  say,  than  since  my  great 
trouble.  It  was  sweet  to  have  real  little  ones  to  see 
to  again  —  if  Miss  Baby  had  only  known  it,  that  first 
evening's  bathing  her  and  tucking  her  up  in  bed 
brought  tears  of  pleasure  to  my  eyes. 


AN  UNEXPECTED  PROPOSAL.         23 

"  Come  now,' '  I  said  to  myself,  "  this'll  never  do. 
You  mustn't  let  yourself  go  for  to  get  so  fond  of 
these  young  ladies  and  gentlemen  that  you're  only 
with  for  a  day  or  two  at  most,"  but  I  knew  all  the 
same  I  couldn't  help  it,  and  I  settled  in  my  own 
mind  that  as  soon  as  I  could  I  would  look  out  for  a 
place  again.  I  wasn't  afraid  of  what  some  would 
count  a  hardish  place —  indeed,  I  rather  liked  it. 
I've  always  been  that  fond  of  children  that  whatever 
I  have  to  do  for  them  comes  right  —  what  does  try 
my  temper  is  to  see  things  half  done,  or  left  undone 
by  silly  upsetting  girls  who  haven't  a  grain  of  the 
real  nurse's  spirit  in  them. 

My  lady  wrote  at  once  on  hearing  from  Mrs. 
Nutfold.  She  was  very  angry  indeed  about  Sharp's 
behaviour,  and  at  first  was  by  way  of  coming  down 
immediately  to  see  to  things.  But  by  the  next  day, 
when  she  had  got  a  second  letter  saying  how  old 
Sarah  had  fetched  me,  and  that  I  was  willing  to  stay 
for  the  time,  she  wrote  again,  putting  off  for  a  few 
days,  and  glad  to  do  so,  seeing  how  cleverly  her  good 
Mrs.  Nutfold  had  managed.  That  was  how  she  put 
it  —  my  lady  always  had  a  gracious  way  with  her, 
I  will  say — and  I  was  to  be  thanked  for  my  oblig- 
ingness ;  she  was  sure  her  little  dears  would  be  happy 
with  any  one  so  well  thought  of  by  the  dame.  They 
were  very  busy  indeed  just  then,  she  and  Sir  Hulbert, 
she  said,  and  very  gay.  But  when  I  came  to  know 
her  better  I  did  her  justice,  and  saw  she  was  not  the 


24  NURSE  HEATHERDALE'S  STORY. 

butterfly  I  was  inclined  to  think  her.  She  was  just 
frantic  to  get  her  husband  forward,  so  to  speak,  and 
far  more  ambitious  for  him  than  caring  about  any- 
thing for  herself.  He  had  had  a  trying  and  disap- 
pointing life  of  it  in  some  ways,  had  Sir  Hulbert, 
and  it  had  not  soured  him.  He  was  a  right-down 
high-minded  gentleman,  though  not  so  clever  as  my 
lady,  perhaps.  And  she  adored  him.  They  adored 
each  other  —  seldom  have  I  heard  of  a  happier  couple : 
only  on  one  point  was  there  ever  disunion  between 
them,  as  I  shall  explain,  all  in  good  time. 

A  week  therefore  —  fully  a  week — had  gone  by 
before  my  little  ladies'  mother  came  to  see  them. 
And  when  she  did  come  it  was  at  short  notice 
enough  —  a  letter  by  the  post  —  and  Mayne,  the  post- 
man, never  passed  our  way  much  before  ten  in  the 
morning.  So  the  dame  told  as  how  she'd  be  down  by 
the  first  train,  and  get  to  Clover  Cottage  by  eleven, 
or  soon  after.  We  were  just  setting  off  on  our 
morning  walk  when  Sarah  came  calling  after  us  to 
tell.  She  was  for  us  not  going,  and  stopping  in  till 
her  ladyship  arrived ;  but  when  I  put  it  to  her  that 
the  children  would  get  so  excited,  hanging  about  and 
nothing  to  do,  she  gave  in. 

"I'll  bring  them  back  before  eleven,"  I  said. 
"  They'll  be  looking  fresh  and  rosy,  and  with  us 
out  of  the  way  you  and  the  girl  can  get  the  rooms 
all  tidied  up  as  you'd  like  for  my  lady  to  find  them." 

And  Sarah  allowed  it  was  a  good  thought. 


AN  UNEXPECTED  PROPOSAL.          25 

"  You've  a  head  on  your  shoulders,  my  girl,"  was 
how  she  put  it. 

So  off  we  set  —  our  usual  way,  over  the  common 
to  the  fir-woods.  There's  many  a  pretty  walk  about 
Brayling,  and  a  great  variety;  but  none  took  the 
young  ladies'  and  Master  Francie's  fancy  like  the  fir- 
woods.  They  had  never  seen  anything  of  the  kind 
before,  their  home  being  by  the  seashore  was  maybe 
the  reason  —  or  one  reason.  For  I  feel  much  the 
same  myself  about  loving  fir-woods,  though,  so  to  say, 
I  was  born  and  bred  among  them.  There's  a  charm 
one  can't  quite  explain  about  them  —  the  sameness 
and  the  stillness  and  the  great  tops  so  high  up,  and 
yet  the  bareness  and  openness  down  below,  though 
always  in  the  shade.  And  the  scent,  and  the  feel  of 
the  crisp  crunching  soil  one  treads  on,  soil  made  of 
the  millions  of  the  fir-needles,  with  here  and  there  the 
cones  as  they  have  fallen. 

"It's  like  fairy  stories,"  Miss  Lally  used  to  say, 
with  her  funny  little  sigh. 

But  we  couldn't  linger  long  in  the  woods  that 
morning,  though  a  beautiful  morning  it  was.  Miss 
Bess  and  Miss  Baby  were  in  the  greatest  delight 
about  "  mamma  "  coming,  and  always  asking  me  if  I 
didn't  think  it  must  be  eleven  o'clock.  Miss  Lally 
was  pleased  too,  in  her  quiet  way,  only  I  noticed 
that  she  was  a  good  deal  taken  up  with  Master 
Francie,  who  seemed  to  have  something  on  his 
mind,  and  at  last  they  both  called  to  Miss  Bess,  and 


26  NURSE  HEATHERDALE'S  STORY. 

said  something  to  her  which  I  didn't  hear,  evidently 
asking  her  opinion. 

"  Nonsense,"  said  Miss  Bess,  in  her  quick  decided 
way;  "I  have  no  patience  with  you  being  so  silly. 
As  if  mamma  would  be  so  unjust." 

"But,"  said  Master  Francis  hesitatingly,  "you 
know,  Bess  — sometimes  —  " 

"  Yes,"  put  in  Miss  Lally,  "  she  might  think  it  had 
been  partly  Francie's  fault." 

"  Nonsense,"  said  Miss  Bess  again ;  "  mamma 
knows  well  enough  that  Sharp  was  horrid.  I  am 
sure  Francie  has  been  as  good  as  good  for  ever  so 
long,  and  old  Mrs.  Nutfold  will  tell  mamma  so,  even 
if  possibly  she  did  not  understand." 

Their  faces  grew  a  little  lighter  after  this,  and  by 
the  time  we  had  got  home  and  I  had  tidied  them  all 
up,  I  really  felt  that  my  lady  would  be  difficult  to 
please  if  she  didn't  think  all  four  looking  as  bright 
and  well  as  she  could  wish. 

I  kept  myself  out  of  the  way  when  I  heard  the 
carriage  driving  up,  though  the  children  would  have 
dragged  me  forward.  But  I  was  a  complete  stranger 
to  Lady  Penrose,  and  things  having  happened  as  they 
had,  I  felt  that  she  might  like  to  be  alone  with  the 
children,  at  first,  and  that  no  doubt  Sarah  Nutfold 
would  be  eager  to  have  a  talk  with  her.  I  sat  down 
to  my  sewing  quietly  —  there  was  plenty  of  mending 
on  hand,  Sharp's  service  having  been  but  eye-service 
in  every  way  —  and  I  won't  deny  but  that  my  heart 


AN  UNEXPECTED  PROPOSAL.         27 

was  a  little  heavy  thinking  how  soon,  how  very  soon, 
most  likely,  I  should  have  to  leave  these  children, 
whom  already,  in  these  few  days,  I  had  grown  to  love 
so  dearly. 

I  was  not  left  very  long  to  my  meditations,  how- 
ever ;  before  an  hour  had  passed  there  came  a  clear 
voice  up  the  old  staircase,  "  Martha,  Martha,  come 
quick,  mamma  wants  you,"  and  hastening  out  I 
met  Miss  Bess  at  the  door.  She  turned  and  ran 
down  again,  I  following  her  more  slowly. 

How  well  I  remember  the  group  I  saw  as  I 
opened  the  parlour  door !  It  was  like  a  picture. 
Lady  Penrose  herself  was  more  than  pretty — beauti- 
ful, I  have  heard  her  called,  and  I  think  it  was  no 
exaggeration.  She  was  sitting  in  the  dame's  old- 
fashioned  armchair,  in  the  window  of  the  little  room  ; 
the  bright  summer  sunshine  streaming  in  behind  her 
and  lighting  up  her  fair  hair  —  hair  for  all  the  world 
like  Miss  Lally's,  though  perhaps  a  thought  darker. 
Miss  Baby  was  on  her  knee  and  Miss  Bess  on  a  stool 
at  her  feet,  holding  one  of  her  hands.  Miss  Lally 
and  Master  Francie  were  a  little  bit  apart,  close 
together  as  usual. 

"  Come  in,"  said  my  lady.  "  Come  in,  Martha,"  as 
I  hesitated  a  little  in  the  doorway.  "I  am  very 
pleased  to  see  you  and  to  thank  you  for  all  your 
kindness  to  these  little  people." 

She  half  rose  from  her  chair  as  I  drew  near,  and 
shook  hands  with  me  in  the  pretty  gracious  way  she  had. 


28  NURSE  HEATHERDALE'S  STORY. 

"  I  am  sure  it  has  been  a  pleasure  to  me,  my  lady," 
I  said.  "  I've  been  used  to  children  for  so  long  that 
I  was  feeling  quite  lost  at  home  doing  nothing." 

"  And  you  are  very  fond  of  children,  truly  fond  of 
them,"  my  lady  went  on,  glancing  up  at  me  with  a 
quick  observant  look,  that  somehow  reminded  me  of 
Miss  Bess ;  "  so  at  least  Mrs.  Nutfold  tells  me,  and  I 
think  I  should  have  known  it  for  myself  even  if  she 
had  not  said  so.  I  have  to  go  back  to  town  this  after- 
noon —  supposing  you  all  run  out  into  the  garden  for 
a  few  minutes,  children ;  I  want  to  talk  to  Martha  a 
little,  and  it  will  soon  be  your  dinner  time." 

She  got  up  as  she  spoke,  putting  Miss  Baby  down 
gently ;  the  child  began  grumbling  a  little  —  but, 
"  No,  no,  Baby,  you  must  do  as  I  tell  you,"  checked 
her  in  a  moment. 

"  Take  her  out  with  you,  Bess,"  she  added.  I  could 
see  that  my  lady  was  not  one  to  be  trifled  with. 

When  they  had  all  left  the  room  she  turned  to 
me  again.  "  Sit  down,  Martha,  for  a  minute  or  two. 
One  can  always  talk  so  much  more  comfortably 
sitting,"  she  said  pleasantly.  "  And  I  have  no  doubt 
the  children  have  given  you  plenty  of  exercise  lately, 
though  you  don't  look  delicate,"  she  added,  with 
again  the  little  look  of  inquiry. 

"  Thank  you,  my  lady ;  no,  I  am  not  delicate  ;  as  a 
rule  I  am  strong  and  well,  though  this  last  year  has 
brought  me  troubles  and  upsets,  and  I  haven't  felt 
quite  myself." 


AN  UNEXPECTED  PROPOSAL.          29 

"  Naturally,"  she  said.  "  Mrs.  Nutfold  has  told  me 
about  you.  I  was  talking  to  her  just  now  when  I 
first  arrived."  Truly  my  lady  was  not  one  to  let  the 
grass  grow  under  the  feet.  "  She  says  you  will  be 
looking  for  a  situation  again  before  long.  Is  there 
any  chance  of  your  being  able  to  take  one  at  once, 
that  is  to  say  if  mine  seems  likely  to  suit  you." 

She  spoke  so  quick  and  it  was  so  unexpected  that 
I  felt  for  a  moment  half  stupid  and  dazed-like. 

"  Are  you  sure,  my  lady,  that  I  should  suit  you  ?  " 
I  managed  to  say  at  last.  "I  have  only  been  in 
one  place  in  my  life,  and  you  might  want  more 
experience." 

"You  were  with  Mrs.  Wyngate,  in  shire,  I 

believe?  I  know  her  sister  and  can  easily  hear 
any  particulars  I  want,  but  I  feel  sure  you  would 
suit  me." 

She  went  on  to  give  me  a  good  many  particulars, 
all  in  the  same  clear  decided  way.  "  The  Wyngates 
are  very  rich,"  she  said,  as  she  ended.  "  You  must 
have  seen  a  great  deal  of  luxury  there.  Now  we  are 
not  rich  —  not  at  all  rich  —  though  we  have  a  large 
country  place  that  has  belonged  to  the  family  for 
many  hundreds  of  years  ;  but  we  are  obliged  to  live 
plainly  and  the  place  is  rather  lonely.  I  don't  want 
you  to  decide  all  at  once.  Think  it  all  over,  and 
consult  your  parents,  and  let  me  have  your  answer 
when  I  come  down  again." 

"That   will   be    the    difficulty,"    I   replied;    "my 


30  NURSE  HEATHERDALE'S  STORY. 

parents  wanted  me  to  stay  on  some  time  with  them. 
There  is  nothing  about  the  work  or  the  wages  I 
should  object  to,  and  though  Mrs.  Wyngate  was 
very  kind,  I  have  never  cared  for  much  luxury  in 
the  nursery  —  indeed,  I  should  have  liked  plainer 
ways ;  and  I  love  the  country,  and  as  for  the  young 
ladies  and  gentleman,  my  lady,  if  it  isn't  taking  a 
liberty  to  say  so,  I  love  them  dearly  already.  But  it 
is  father  and  mother  — 

"  Well,  well,"  said  my  lady,  "  we  must  see.  The 
children  are  very  happy  with  you,  and  I  hope  it  may 
be  arranged,  but  of  course  you  must  consult  your 
parents." 

She  went  back  to  London  that  same  afternoon, 
and  that  very  evening,  when  they  were  all  in  bed,  I 
slipped  on  my  bonnet  and  ran  home  to  talk  it  over 
with  father  and  mother. 


CHAPTER  III. 

TRELUAN. 

THERE  were  fors  and  againsts,  as  there  are  with 
most  things  in  this  world.  Father  was  sorry  for  me 
to  leave  so  soon  and  go  so  far,  and  he  scarce  thought 
the  wages  what  I  might  now  look  for.  Mother  felt 
with  him  about  the  parting,  but  mother  was  a  far- 
seeing  woman.  She  thought  the  change  would  be 
the  best  thing  for  me  after  my  trouble,  and  she 
thought  a  deal  of  my  being  with  real  gentry.  Not 
but  that  Mrs.  Wyngate's  family  was  all  one  could 
think  highly  of,  but  Mr.  Wyngate's  great  fortune 
had  been  made  in  trade,  and  there  was  a  little  more 
talk  and  thought  of  riches  and  display  among  them 
than  quite  suited  mother's  ideas,  and  she  had  some- 
times feared  it  spoiling  me. 

"  The  wages  I  wouldn't  put  first,"  she  said.  "  A 
good  home  and  simple  ways  among  real  gentlefolk 
—  that's  what  I'd  choose  for  thee,  my  girl.  And 
the  children  are  good  children  and  not  silly  spoilt 
things,  and  straightforward  and  well-bred,  I  take  it  ?  " 

"  All  that  and  more,"  I  answered.  "  If  anything, 
they've  been  a  bit  too  strict  brought  up,  I'd  say.  If 
I  go  to  them  I  shall  try  to  make  Miss  Lally  brighten 

31 


32  NURSE  HEATHERDALE'S  STORY. 

up  —  not  that  she's  a  dull  child,  but  she  has  the  look 
of  taking  things  to  heart  more  than  one  likes  to  see 
at  her  age.  And  poor  Master  Francis — I'm  sure 
he'd  be  none  the  worse  of  a  little  petting  —  so  deli- 
cate as  he  is  and  his  lameness." 

"  You'll  find  your  work  to  do,  if  you  go  —  no  fear," 
said  mother.  "  Maybe  it's  a  call." 

I  got  to  think  so  myself  —  and  when  my  lady 
wrote  that  all  she  heard  from  Mrs.  Wyngate  was 
most  satisfactory,  I  made  up  my  mind  to  accept  her 
offer,  and  told  her  so  when  she  came  down  again  for 
a  few  hours  the  end  of  the  week. 

We  stayed  but  a  fortnight  longer  at  Brayling  — 
and  a  busy  fortnight  it  was.  I  had  my  own  things 
to  see  to  a  little,  and  would  fain  have  finished  the 
set  of  shirts  I  had  begun  for  father.  The  days 
seemed  to  fly.  I  scarce  could  believe  it  was  not  a 
dream  when  I  found  myself  with  all  the  family  in  a 
second-class  railway  carriage,  starting  from  Paddirig- 
ton  on  our  long  journey. 

It  was  a  long  journey,  especially  as,  to  save  ex- 
pense, we  had  come  up  from  Brayling  that  same 
morning.  We  were  not  to  reach  the  little  town 
where  we  left  the  railway  till  nearly  midnight,  to 
sleep  there,  I  was  glad  for  the  poor  children's  sake 
to  hear,  and  start  again  the  next  morning  on  a  nine- 
teen miles'  journey  by  coach. 

"  And  then,"  said  Miss  Lally,  with  one  of  her  deep 
sighs,  "  we  shall  be  at  home," 


TRELTJAN.  33 

I  thought  there  was  some  content  in  her  sigh  this 
time. 

"  Shall  you  be  glad,  dearie,  to  be  at  home  again  ?  " 
I  said. 

"  I  fink  so,"  she  answered.  "  And  oh,  I  am  glad 
you've  corned  wif  us,  'stead  of  Sharp.  And  Francie's 
almost  more  gladder  still,  aren't  you,  dear  old 
Francie  ?  " 

"  I  should  just  think  I  was,"  said  the  boy. 

"  Sharp,"  -  -  and  the  little  girl  lowered  her  voice 
and  glanced  around ;  we  were,  so  to  speak,  alone  at 
one  end  of  the  carriage,  —  Miss  Lally,  her  cousin  and 
I,  for  Miss  Baby  was  already  asleep  in  my  arms  and 
Miss  Bess  talking,  like  a  grown-up  young  lady, 
at  the  other  end,  with  her  papa  and  mamma  — 
"  Sharp,"  said  Miss  Lally,  "  really  hated  poor  Francie, 
because  she  thought  he  told  mamma  about  her 
tempers.  And  she  made  mamma  think  he  was 
naughty  when  he  wasn't.  Francie  and  I  were 
frightened  when  Sharp  went  away  that  mamma 
would  think  it  was  his  fault.  But  she  didn't. 
Queen  spoke  to  her,  and  Mrs.  Dame  "  (that  was  her 
name  for  old  Sarah)  "  did  too.  And  you  didn't  get 
scolded,  did  you,  Francie  ?  " 

"  No,"  said  Master  Francie  quietly,  "  I  didn't." 

He  looked  as  if  he  were  going  to  say  more,  but 
just  then  Miss  Bess,  who  had  had  enough  for  the 
time,  of  being  grown  up  —  and  indeed  she  was  but  a 
complete  child  at  heart  —  got  up  from  her  seat  and 


84  NURSE  HEATHERDALE'S  STORY. 

came  to  our  end  of  the  carriage.  Sir  Hulbert  was 
reading  his  newspaper,  and  my  lady  was  making 
notes  in  a  little  memorandum  book. 

"What  are  you  talking  about?"  said  the  eldest 
little  sister,  sitting  down  beside  me.  "  You  all  look 
very  comfortable,  Baby  especially." 

"  We  are  talking  about  Sharp  going  away,"  re- 
plied Miss  Lally,  "and  Francie  thinking  he'd  be 
scolded  for  it." 

"  Oh !  do  leave  off  about  that  and  talk  of  some- 
thing nicer.  Franz  is  really  silly.  If  you'd  only 
speak  right  out  to  mamma,"  she  went  on,  "things 
would  be  ever  so  much  better." 

The  boy  shook  his  head  rather  sadly. 

"  Now  you  know,"  said  Miss  Bess,  "  they  would 
be.  Mamma  is  never  unjust." 

She  was  speaking  in  her  clear  decided  way,  and 

feeling  a  little  afraid  lest  their  voices  should  reach 

to  the  other  end  —  I  wouldn't  have  liked  my  lady  to 

think  I  encouraged  the  children  in  talking  her  over 

—  I  tried  to  change  the  conversation. 

"  Won't  you  tell  me  a  little  about  your  home  ?  "  I 
said.  "  You  know  it'll  all  be  quite  new  to  me ;  I've 
only  seen  the  sea  once  or  twice  in  my  life,  and  never 
lived  by  it." 

"  Treluan  isn't  quite  close  to  the  sea,"  said  Master 
Francis,  evidently  taking  up  my  feeling.  "  We  can 
see  it  from  some  of  the  top  rooms,  and  from  one  end 
of  the  west  terrace  at  high  tides,  and  we  can  hear  it 


TEELUAK.  35 

too  when  it's  stormy.  But  it's  really  two  miles  to 
the  coast." 

"  There  are  such  dear  little  bays,  lots  of  them," 
said  Miss  Bess.  "  We  can  play  Robinson  Crusoe  and 
smugglers  and  all  sorts  of  things,  for  the  bays  are 
quite  separated  from  each  other  by  the  rocks." 

"  There's  caves  in  some,"  said  Miss  Lally,  "  rather 
f'ightening  caves,  they're  so  dark  ;  "  but  her  eyes 
sparkled  as  if  she  were  quite  able  to  enjoy  some 
adventures. 

"  We  shall  be  at  no  loss  for  nice  walks,  I  see ;  but 
how  do  you  amuse  yourselves  on  wet  days  ?  " 

"  Oh !  we've  always  plenty  to  do,"  said  Miss  Bess. 
"  Miss  Kirstin  comes  from  the  Vicarage  every  morn- 
ing for  our  lessons,  and  twice  a  week  papa  teaches 
Franz  and  me  Latin  in  the  afternoon,  and  the  house 
is  very  big,  you  know.  When  we  can't  go  out,  we 
may  race  about  in  the  attics  over  the  nurseries. 
There's  a  stair  goes  up  to  the  tower,  just  by  the  nurs- 
ery door,  and  you  pass  the  attics  on  the  way. 
They're  called  the  tower  attics,  because  there  are 
lots  more  over  the  other  end  of  the  house.  Francie's 
room  is  in  the  tower." 

It  was  easy  to  see  by  this  talk  that  Treluan  was  a 
large  and  important  place. 

"  I  suppose  the  house  is  very,  very  old?  "  I  said. 

"  Oh  yes  !  thousands  —  I  mean  hundreds  —  of 
years  old.  Centuries  mean  hundreds,  don't  they, 
Franz  ?  "  said  she,  turning  to  her  cousin. 


36  NURSE  HEATHERDALE'S  STORY. 

"  Yes,  dear,"  he  answered  gently,  though  I  could 
see  he  was  inclined  to  smile  a  little.  "  If  you  know 
English  history,'*  he  went  on  to  me,  "I  could  tell 
you  exactly  how  old  Treluan  is.  The  first  bit  of  it 
was  built  in  the  reign  of  King  Henry  the  Tfiird, 
though  it's  been  changed  ever  so  often  since  then. 
About  a  hundred  years  ago  the  Penroses  were  very 
rich,  very  rich  indeed.  But  when  one  of  them  died 
—  our  great,  great  grand-uncle,  I  think  it  was  —  and 
his  nephew  took  possession,  it  was  found  the  old  man 
had  sold  a  lot  of  the  land  secretly  —  it  wasn't  to  be 
told  till  his  death  —  and  no  one  has  ever  been  able 
to  find  out  what  he  did  with  the  money.  It  was  the 
best  of  the  land  too." 

"  And  they  were  so  surprised,"  said  Miss  Bess, 
"  for  he'd  been  a  very  saving  old  man,  and  they 
thought  there'd  be  lots  of  money  over,  anyway. 
Wasn't  it  too  bad  of  him  —  horrid  old  thing  ?  " 

"  Queen,"  said  Miss  Lally  gravely.  "  You  know 
we  fixed  never  to  call  him  that,  'cos  he's  dead.  He 
was  a  —  oh,  what's  that  word  ?  —  something  like 
those  things  in  the  hall  at  home  —  helmet  —  was  it 
that?  No  —  do  tell  me,  Queen." 

"  You're  muddling  it  up  with  crusaders,  you  silly 
little  thing,"  said  Miss  Bess.  "  How  could  he  have 
been  a  crusader  only  a  hundred  years  ago  ?  " 

"  No,  no,  it  isn't  that  —  I  said  it  was  like  it,"  said 
Miss  Lally,  ready  to  cry.  "  What's  the  other  word 
for  helmet  ?  " 


TKELUAN.  37 

"  I  know,"  said  Master  Francis,  "  vizor  —  and  —  " 

"  Yes,  yes  —  and  the  old  man  was  a  miser,  that's 
it,"  said  the  child.  "  Papa  said  so,  and  he  said  it's 
like  a'  illness,  once  people  get  it  they  can't  leave 
off.'f 

Miss  Bess  and  Master  Francis  could  not  help 
laughing  at  the  funny  way  the  child  said  it,  nor 
could  I  myself,  for  that  matter.  And  then  they 
went  on  to  tell  me  more  of  the  strange  old  story  — 
how  their  great  grandfather  and  their  grandfather 
after  him  had  always  gone  on  hoping  the  missing 
money  would  sooner  or  later  turn  up,  though  it  never 
did,  till  —  putting  what  the  children  told  me  together 
with  my  lady's  own  words  —  it  became  clear  that 
poor  Sir  Hulbert  had  come  into  a  sadly  impoverished 
state  of  things. 

"  Perhaps  the  late  baronet  and  his  father  were  not 
of  the  4  saving  '  sort,"  I  said  to  myself,  and  from  what 
I  came  to  hear  afterwards,  I  fancy  I  was  about  right. 

After  a  while  my  lady  came  to  our  end  of  the 
carriage.  She  was  afraid,  she  said,  I'd  find  Miss 
Baby  too  heavy  —  wouldn't  I  lay  her  comfortably  on 
the  seat,  there  was  plenty  of  room  ?  —  my  lady  was 
always  thoughtful  for  others  —  and  then  when  we 
had  got  the  child  settled,  she  sat  down  and  joined  in 
our  talk  a  little. 

"We've  been  telling  Martha  about  Treluan  and 
about  the  old  uncle  that  did  something  with  the 
money,"  said  Miss  Bess. 


38  NUKSE  HEATHEKDALE'S  STORY. 

My  lady  did  not  seem  to  mind. 

"  It  is  a  queer  story,  isn't  it  ?  "  she  said.  "  Worse 
than  queer,  indeed  —  "  and  she  sighed.  "  Though 
even  with  it,  things  would  not  be  as  they  are,  if  other 
people  had  not  added  their  part  to  them." 

She  glanced  round  in  a  half  impatient  way,  and 
somehow  her  glance  fell  on  Master  Francis,  and  I 
almost  started  as  I  caught  sight  of  the  expression 
that  had  come  over  her  face  —  it  was  a  look  of  real 
dislike. 

"Sit  up,  Francis  —  do,  for  goodness'  sake,"  she  said 
sharply ;  "  you  make  yourself  into  a  regular  hump- 
back." 

The  boy's  pale,  almost  sallow  face  reddened  all 
over.  He  had  been  listening  with  interest  to  the 
talking,  and  taking  his  part  in  it.  Now  he  straight- 
ened himself  nervously,  murmuring  something  that 
sounded  like,  "I  beg  your  pardon,  Aunt  Helen,"  and 
sat  gazing  out  of  the  window  beside  him  as  if  lost  in 
his  own  thoughts.  I  busied  myself  with  pulling  the 
rugs  better  over  Miss  Baby,  so  that  my  lady  should 
not  see  my  face  just  then.  But  I  think  she  felt  sorry 
for  her  sharp  tone,  for  when  she  spoke  again  it  was 
even  more  pleasantly  than  usual. 

"  Have  you  told  nurse  other  things  about  Treluan, 
children  ?  "  she  said.  "  It  is  really  a  dear  old  place," 
she  went  on  to  me  ;  "  it  might  be  made  quite  delight- 
ful if  Sir  Hulbert  could  spend  a  little  more  upon  it. 
I  had  set  my  heart  on  new  furnishing  your  room  this 


TBELTTAK.  39 

year,  Bess  darling,  but  I'm  afraid  it  will  have  to 
wait." 

"  Never  mind,  dear,"  said  Miss  Bess  comfortingly, 
in  her  old-fashioned  way,  "  there's  no  hurry.  If  I 
could  have  fresh  covers  to  the  chairs,  the  furniture 
itself  —  I  mean  the  wood  part  —  is  quite  good." 

"  I  did  get  some  nice  chintz  in  London,"  said  her 
mamma ;  "  there  was  some  selling  off  rather  cheap. 
But  it's  the  getting  things  made  —  everything  down 
with  us  is  so  difficult  and  expensive,"  and  my  lady 
sighed.  Her  mind  seemed  full  of  the  one  idea,  and  I 
began  to  think  she  should  try  to  take  a  cheerier  view 
of  things. 

"If  you'll  excuse  me  mentioning  it,"  I  said,  "I 
have  had  some  experience  in  the  cutting  out  of 
chair-covers  and  such  things.  It  would  be  a  great 
pleasure  to  me  to  help  to  make  the  young  ladies' 
rooms  nice." 

"  That  would  be  very  nice  indeed,"  said  my  lady ; 
"  I  really  should  like  to  do  what  we  can  to  brighten 
up  the  old  house.  I  expect  it  will  look  very  gloomy 
to  you,  nurse,  till  you  get  used  to  it.  I  do  want 
Bess's  room  to  look  better.  Of  course  Lally  is  in  the 
nursery  still,  and  won't  need  a  room  of  her  own  for 
a  long  time  yet." 

Miss  Lally  was  sitting  beside  me,  and  as  her 
mamma  spoke,  I  heard  a  very  tiny  little  sigh. 

"  Never  mind,  Miss  Lally  dear,"  I  whispered. 
"  We'll  brighten  up  the  nurseries  too,  nicely." 


40  NURSE  HEATHERDALE'S  STORY. 

These  little  scraps  of  talk  come  back  to  my  mind 
now,  when  I  think  of  that  first  journey  down  to 
Treluari  so  many  years  ago.  I  put  them  down  such 
as  they  are,  as  they  may  help  better  than  words  of 
my  own  to  give  an  idea  of  the  dear  children  and  all 
about  them,  as  they  then  were. 

We  reached  Treluan  the  afternoon  of  the  next 
day.  It  was  a  dull  day  unfortunately,  though  the 
very  middle  of  summer — rainy  and  gray.  Of  course 
every  one  knows  that  there's  much  weather  of  that 
kind  in  the  west  country,  but  no  doubt  it  added  to 
the  impression  of  gloom  with  which  the  first  sight  of 
the  old  house  struck  me,  I  must  confess.  Gloom, 
perhaps,  is  hardly  the  word  to  use ;  it  was  more  a 
feeling  of  desertedness,  almost  of  decayed  grandeur, 
quite  unlike  anything  I  had  ever  se,en  before.  For 
in  my  former  place  everything  had  been  bright  and 
new,  fresh  and  perfect  of  its  kind.  Afterwards, 
when  I  came  to  see  into  things  better,  I  found 
there  was  no  neglect  or  mismanagement ;  every- 
thing that  could  be  done  was  done  by  Sir  Hulbert 
outside,  and  my  lady  in  her  own  department  — 
uphill  and  trying  work  though  it  must  often  have 
been  for  them. 

But  that  first  evening,  when  I  looked  round  the 
great  lofty  hall  into  which  my  lady  had  led  the  way, 
dusky  and  dim  already  with  the  rain  pattering  against 
the  high  arched  windows  and  a  chilly  feeling  in  the 
air,  the  half  dozen  servants  or  so,  who  had  come  out 


TRELUAN.  41 

to  meet  us  —  evidently  the  whole  establishment  — 
standing  round,  I  must  own  that  in  spite  of  the 
children's  eager  excitement  and  delight  at  finding 
themselves  at  home  again,  my  heart  went  down.  I 
did  feel  so  very  far  away  from  home  and  father  and 
mother,  and  everything  I  had  ever  known.  The  first 
thing  to  cheer  me  was  when  the  old  housekeeper  — 
cook-housekeeper  she  really  was  —  Mrs.  Brent,  came 
forward  after  speaking  to  my  lady,  and  shook  me 
kindly  by  the  hand. 

"  Welcome  to  Treluan,  Nurse  Heatherdale,"  she 
said.  And  here  I  should  explain  that  as  there  was 
already  a  Martha  in  the  house,  my  lady  had  expressed 
her  wish  that  I  should  be  called  "  nurse,"  or  "  Heath- 
erdale," from  which  came  my  name  of  "Heather," 
that  I  have  always  been  called  by.  "Welcome  to 
Treluan,  and  don't  go  for  to  think  that  it's  always  as 
dull  as  you  see  it  just  now,  as  like  as  not  to-morrow 
will  be  bright  and  sunny." 

She  was  a  homely-looking  body  with  a  very  kind 
face,  not  Cornish  bred  I  found  afterwards,  though  she 
had  lived  there  many  years.  Something  about  her 
made  me  think  of  mother,  and  I  felt  the  tears  rise  to 
my  eyes,  though  no  one  saw. 

"  Shall  I  show  nurse  the  way  upstairs,  my  lady  ?  " 
she  said.  For  Mrs.  Brent  was  like  her  looks,  simple 
and  friendly  like.  She  had  never  known  Treluan  in 
its  grand  days  of  course,  though  she  had  known  it 
when  things  were  a  good  deal  easier  than  at  present ; 


42  NURSE  HEATHERDALE'S  STORY. 

and  that  evening,  when  the  children  were  asleep,  she 
came  up  to  sit  with  me  a  bit,  and,  though  with  perfect 
respect  to  her  master  and  mistress  and  no  love  of 
gossip  in  her  talk  (for  of  that  she  was  quite  free),  she 
explained  to  me  a  few  things  which  already  had 
puzzled  me  a  little.  No  praise  was  too  high  for  Sir 
Hulbert  with  her,  and  my  lady  was  a  really  good, 
high-minded  woman.  "  But  she  takes  her  troubles 
too  heavy,"  said  Mrs.  Brent ;  "  she's  like  to  break  her 
heart  at  having  no  son  of  her  own,  and  that  and  other 
things  make  her  not  show  her  best  self  to  poor  little 
Master  Francis,  though,  considering  he's  been  here 
since  he  was  four,  'tis  a  wonder  he  doesn't  seem  to 
her  like  a  child  of  her  own.  And  Sir  Hulbert  feels 
it ;  it's  a  real  grief  to  him,  for  he  loved  Master 
Francis's  father  dearly  through  all  the  troubles  he 
caused  them,  and  anyway  'tis  not  fair  to  visit  the 
father's  sin  on  the  innocent  child." 

Then  she  told  me  how  Master  Francis's  father  had 
made  things  worse  by  his  extravagance,  half-breaking 
his  young  wife's  heart  and  leaving  debts  behind  him, 
when  he  was  killed  by  an  accident;  and  that  Sir 
Hulbert,  for  the  honour  of  the  family,  had  taken 
these  debts  upon  himself. 

"  His  wife  was  a  pretty  young  creature,  half  a 
foreigner.  Sir  Hulbert  had  her  brought  here  with 
the  boy,  and  here  she  died,  not  long  before  Miss 
Lalage  was  born,  and  so,  failing  a  son,  Master  Francis 
is  the  heir,  and  a  sweet,  good  young  gentleman  he  is, 


TEELUAN.  43 

though  nothing  as  to  looks.  'Tis  a  pity  he's  so  shy 
and  timid  in  his  way  ;  it  gives  my  lady  the  idea  he's 
not  straightforward,  though  that  I'm  very  sure  he  is, 
and  most  affectionate  at  heart,  though  he  hasn't  the 
knack  of  showing  it." 

"  Except  to  Miss  Lally,  I  should  say,"  I  put  in ; 
"  how  those  two  do  cling  together,  to  be  sure." 

"  He  loves  them  all  dearly,  my  lady  too,  though 
he's  frightened  of  her.  Miss  Lally's  the  one  he's 
most  at  home  with,  because  she's  so  little,  and  none 
of  Miss  Bess's  masterful  ways  about  her.  Poor  dear 
Miss  Lally,  many's  the  trouble  she's  got  into  for 
Master  Francis's  sake." 

All  this  was  very  interesting  to  me,  and  helped  to 
clear  my  mind  in  some  ways  from  the  first,  which  was, 
I  take  it,  a  good  thing.  Mrs.  Brent  said  little  about 
Sharp,  but  I  could  see  she  had  not  approved  of  her ; 
and  she  was  so  kind  as  to  add  some  words  about 
myself,  and  feeling  sure  I  would  make  the  children 
happy,  especially  the  two  whom  it  was  easy  to  see 
were  her  own  favourites,  Miss  Lally  and  her  cousin. 
This  made  me  feel  the  more  earnest  to  do  my  very 
best  in  every  way  for  the  young  creatures  under  my 
care. 


CHAPTER  IV. 

A  NURSERY  TEA. 

WRITING  down  that  talk  with  good  Mrs.  Brent 
made  me  put  aside  the  account  of  our  arrival  at 
Treluan,  clearly  though  I  remember  it.  Even  to 
this  day  I  never  go  up  the  great  staircase  —  of 
course  it  is  not  often  that  I  pass  that  way  —  without 
recalling  the  feelings  with  which  I  stepped  up  it  for 
the  first  time  —  Mrs.  Brent  in  front,  carrying  a  small 
hand-lamp,  the  passages  being  so  dark,  though  it  was 
still  early  in  the  evening ;  the  children  running  on 
before  me,  except  Miss  Baby,  who  was  rather  sleepy 
and  very  cross,  poor  dear,  so  that  half-way  up  I  had 
to  lift  her  in  my  arms.  All  up  the  dark  wainscoted 
walls,  dead  and  gone  Penroses  looked  down  upon  us, 
in  every  sort  of  ancient  costume.  They  used  to  give 
me  a  half  eerie  feeling  till  I  got  to  know  them  better 
and  to  take  a  certain  pride  in  them,  feeling  myself, 
as  I  came  to  do,  almost  like  one  of  the  family,  though 
in  a  humble  way. 

At  the  top  of  the  great  staircase  we  passed  along 
the  gallery,  which  runs  right  across  one  side  of  the 
hall  below;  then  through  a  door  on  the  right  and 
down  a  long  passage  ending  in  a  small  landing,  from 

44 


A   NUKSEEY  TEA.  45 

which  a  back  staircase  ran  down  again  to  the  ground 
floor.  The  nurseries  in  those  days  were  the  two 
large  rooms  beyond,  now  turned  into  a  billiard-room, 
my  present  lady  thinking  them  scarcely  warm  enough 
for  the  winter.  It  is  handy  too  to  have  the  billiard- 
room  near  the  tower,  where  the  smoking-room  now 
is,  and  the  spare  rooms  for  gentlemen  visitors.  A 
door  close  beside  the  nurseries  opened  on  to  the  tower 
stair ;  some  little  way  up  this  stair  another  door  leads 
into  the  two  or  three  big  attics  over  the  nurseries, 
which  the  children  used  as  playrooms  in  the  wet 
weather.  Master  Francis's  room  was  the  lowest  door 
on  the  tower  staircase,  half-way  as  it  were,  as  to  level, 
between  the  nurseries  and  the  attics.  The  ground- 
floor  rooms  of  the  tower  were  entered  from  below,  as 
the  separate  staircase  only  began  from  the  nursery 
floor.  All  these  particulars,  of  course,  I  learnt  by 
degrees,  having  but  a  very  general  idea  of  things 
that  first  night ;  but  plans  of  houses  and  buildings 
have  always  had  an  interest  for  me,  and  as  a  girl  I 
think  I  had  a  quick  eye  for  sizes  and  proportions.  I 
do  remember  the  first  time  I  saw  the  ground-floor 
room  of  the  tower,  under  Master  Francis's,  so  to  say, 
wondering  to  myself  how  it  came  to  be  so  low  in  the 
ceiling,  seeing  that  the  floor  of  his  room  was  several 
feet  higher  than  that  of  the  nurseries.  No  doubt 
others  would  have  been  struck  by  this  also,  had  the 
lowest  room  in  the  tower  been  one  in  regular  use, 
but  as  long  as  any  one  could  remember  it  had  only 


46 

been  a  sort  of  lumber-room.  It  was  only  by  accident 
that  I  went  into  it  one  day,  months  after  I  had  come 
to  Treluan. 

The  nurseries  were  nice  airy  rooms ;  the  school- 
room was  underneath  the  day  nursery,  down  on  the 
ground  floor ;  and  Miss  Bess's  room  was  off  the  little 
landing  I  spoke  of  before  you  came  to  the  nursery 
passage.  But  all  seemed  dim  and  dusky  in  the  half 
light,  that  first  evening.  It  was  long  before  the  days 
of  gas,  of  course,  except  in  towns,  though  that,  I  am 
told,  is  now  thought  nothing  of  compared  to  this  new 
electric  light,  which  Sir  Bevil  is  thinking  of  estab- 
lishing here,  to  be  made  on  the  premises  in  some 
wonderful  way.  And  even  lamps  at  that  time  were 
very  different  from  what  they  are  now,  when  every 
time  my  lady  goes  up  to  town  she  brings  back  some 
beautiful  new  invention  for  turning  night  into  day. 

I  was  glad,  I  remember,  June  though  it  was,  to  see 
a  bright  fire  in  the  nursery  grate  —  Mrs.  Brent  was 
always  thoughtful — and  the  tea  laid  out  nice  and 
tidy  on  the  table.  Miss  Baby  brightened  up  at  sight 
of  it,  and  the  others  gathered  round  to  see  what  good 
things  the  housekeeper  had  provided  for  them  by 
way  of  welcome  home. 

"I  hope  there's  some  clotted  cream,"  said  Miss 
Bess ;  "  yes,  that's  right !  Nurse  has  never  seen  it 
before,  I'm  sure.  Fancy,  Mrs.  Brent,  mamma  says 
the  silly  people  in  London  call  it  Devonshire  cream, 
and  I'm  sure  it's  far  more  Cornish.  And  honey  and 


A   NURSERY   TEA.  47 

some  of  your  own  little  scones  and  saffron  cakes,  that 
is  nice !  Mayn't  we  have  tea  immediately  ?  " 

"I  must  wash  my  hands,"  said  Master  Francis, 
"  they  did  get  so  black  in  the  carriage." 

"  And  mine  too,"  said  Miss  Lally.  "  Oh,  nurse, 
mayn't  Francis  wash  his  for  once  in  the  night  nurs- 
ery, to  be  quick?" 

"  Why  didn't  you  both  keep  your  gloves  on,  you 
dirty  children?"  said  Miss  Bess  in  her  masterful 
way.  "My  hands  are  as  clean  as  clean,  and  of 
course  Francis  mustn't  begin  muddling  in  the  nurs- 
ery. You'd  never  have  asked  Sharp  that,  Lally. 
It's  just  the  sort  of  thing  mamma  doesn't  like.  I 
shall  take  my  things  off  in  my  own  room  at  once." 
And  she  marched  to  the  door  as  she  spoke,  stopping 
for  a  moment  on  the  way  to  say  to  me  —  "  Heather- 
dale,  you'll  come  into  my  room,  won't  you,  as  soon  as 
ever  you  can,  to  talk  about  the  new  chair-covers  ?  " 

"I  won't  forget  about  them,  Miss  Bess,"  I  said 
quietly ;  "  but  for  a  few  days  I  am  sure  to  be  busy, 
unpacking  and  looking  over  the  things  that  were  left 
here." 

The  child  said  nothing  more,  but  I  saw  by  the  lift 
of  her  head  that  she  was  not  altogether  pleased. 

"  Now  Master  Francis,"  I  went  on,  "  perhaps  you 
had  better  run  off  to  your  own  room  to  wash  your 
hands.  It's  always  best  to  keep  to  regular  ways." 

The  boy  obeyed  at  once.  I  had,  to  tell  the  truth, 
been  on  the  point  of  letting  him  do  as  Miss  Lally 


48  NURSE  HEATHERDALE'S  STORY. 

had  wanted,  but  Miss  Bess's  speech  had  given  me  a 
hint,  though  I  was  not  sorry  for  her  not  to  have  seen 
it.  I  should  be  showing  Master  Francis  no  true 
kindness  to  begin  by  any  look  of  spoiling  him,  and  I 
saw  by  a  little  smile  on  Mrs.  Brent's  face  that  she 
thought  me  wise,  even  though  it  was  not  till  later 
in  the  evening  that  I  had  the  long  talk  with  her  that 
I  have  already  mentioned. 

Our  tea  was  bright  and  cheery,  Miss  Baby's  spirits 
returned,  and  she  kept  us  all  laughing  by  her  funny 
little  speeches.  My  lady  came  in  when  we  had 
nearly  finished,  just  to  see  how  all  the  children  were 
—  perhaps  too,  for  she  was  full  of  kind  thoughtful- 
ness,  to  make  me  feel  myself  more  at  home.  She  sat 
down  in  the  chair  by  the  fire,  with  a  little  sigh,  and 
I  was  sorry  to  see  the  anxious,  harassed  look  on  her 
beautiful  face. 

"You  all  look  very  comfortable,"  she  said;  "please 
give  me  a  cup  of  tea,  nurse.  I  found  such  a  lot  of 
things  to  do  immediately,  that  I've  not  had  time  to 
think  of  tea  yet,  and  poor  Sir  Hulbert  is  off  in  the 
rain  to  see  about  some  broken  fences.  Oh  dear! 
what  a  contrary  world  it  seems,"  she  added  half 
laughingly. 

44  How  did  the  fences  get  broken,  mamma?"  said 
Miss  Bess  ;  "  and  why  didn't  Garth  get  them  mended 
at  once  without  waiting  to  tease  papa  the  moment  he 
got  home  ?  " 

"  Some  cattle  got  wild  and  broke  them,  and  if  they 


A   NURSERY   TEA.  49 

are  not  put  right  at  once,  more  damage  may  be  done. 
But  all  these  repairs  are  expensive.  It  only  happened 
two  days  ago ;  poor  Garth  was  obliged  to  tell  papa 
before  doing  it.  Dear  me,"  she  said  again,  "  it  really 
does  seem  sometimes  as  if  money  would  put  every- 
thing in  life  right." 

"Oh!  my  lady,"  I  exclaimed  hastily,  and  then  I 
got  red  with  shame  at  my  forwardness  and  stopped 
short.  I  felt  very  sorry  for  her ;  the  one  thought 
seemed  never  out  of  her  mind,  and  bid  fair  to  poison 
her  happy  home.  I  felt  too  that  it  was  scarcely  the 
sort  of  talk  for  the  children  to  hear,  Miss  Bess  being 
already  in  some  ways  so  old  for  her  years,  and  the 
two  others  scarce  as  light-hearted  as  they  should 
have  been. 

My  lady  smiled  at  me. 

"  Say  on,  Heatherdale ;  I'd  like  to  hear  what  you 
think  about  it." 

I  felt  my  face  getting  still  redder,  but  I  had 
brought  it  on  myself. 

"  It  was  only,  my  lady,"  I  began,  "  that  it  seems  to 
me  that  there  are  so  many  troubles  worse  than  want 
of  money.  There's  my  last  lady's  sister,  for  instance, 
Mrs.  Vernon,  —  everything  in  the  world  has  she  that 
money  can  give,  but  she's  lost  all  her  babies,  one 
after  the  other,  and  she's  just  heart-broken.  Then 
there's  young  Lady  Mildred  Parry,  whose  parents 
own  the  finest  place  near  my  home,  and  she's  their 
only  child;  but  she  had  a  fall  from  her  horse  two 


50  NURSE  HEATHEEDALE'S  STORY. 

years  ago  and  her  back  is  injured  for  life ;  she  often 
drives  past  our  cottage,  lying  all  stretched-out-like, 
in  a  carriage  made  on  purpose." 

My  lady  was  silent.  Suddenly,  to  my  surprise, 
Master  Francis  looked  up  quickly. 

"  I  don't  think  I'd  mind  that  so  very  much,"  he 
said,  "  not  if  my  back  didn't  hurt  badly.  I  think  it 
would  be  better  than  walking  with  your  leg  always 
aching,  and  I  dare  say  everybody  loves  that  girl 
dreadfully." 

He  stopped  as  suddenly  as  he  had  begun,  giving  a 
quick  frightened  glance  round,  and  growing  not  red 
but  still  paler  than  usual,  as  was  his  way. 

"  Poor  little  Francie,"  said  Miss  Lally,  stretching 
her  little  hand  out  to  him  and  looking  half  ready 
to  cry. 

"  Don't  be  silly,  Lally ;  if .  Francis's  leg  hurts  him 
he  has  only  to  say  so,  and  it  will  be  attended  to  as 
it  has  always  been.  If  everybody  loves  that  young 
Lady  Mildred,  no  doubt  it  is  because  she  is  sweet  and 
loving  to  everybody." 

Then  she  grew  silent  again  and  seemed  to  be 
thinking. 

"  You  are  right,  nurse,"  she  said.  "  I  am  very 
grateful  when  I  see  my  dear  children  all  well  and 
happy." 

"  And  good"  added  Miss  Bess  with  her  little  toss 
of  the  head. 

"  Well,  yes,  of  course,"  said  her  mother  smiling. 


A   NURSERY   TEA.  51 

I't  was  seldom,  if  ever,  Miss  Bess  was  pulled  up  for 
anything  she  took  it  into  her  head  to  say,  whether 
called  for  or  not. 

"  But,"  my  lady  went  on  in  a  lower  voice,  turning 
to  rue,  as  if  she  hardly  wished  the  children  to  hear, 
"  want  of  money  isn't  my  only,  nor  indeed  my  worst 
trouble.  —  I  must  go,"  and  she  got  up  as  she  spoke ; 
"there  are  twenty  things  waiting  for  me  to  attend 
to  downstairs.  Good-night,  children  dear ;  I'll  come 
up  and  peep  at  you  in  bed  if  I  possibly  can,  but  I'm 
not  sure  if  I  shall  be  able.  If  not,  nurse  must  do 
instead  of  me  for  to-night,"  and  she  turned  towards 
the  door,  moving  in  the  quick  graceful  way  she 
always  did. 

"  Franz !  "  said  Miss  Bess  reprovingly ;  the  poor 
boy  was  already  getting  off  his  chair,  but  he  was  too 
late  to  open  the  door.  I  doubt  if  his  aunt  noticed 
his  moving  at  all. 

"  You're  always  so  slow  and  clumsy,"  said  his 
eldest  cousin.  The  words  sounded  unkind,  but  it 
was  greatly  that  Miss  Bess  wanted  him  to  please  her 
mamma,  for  the  child  had  an  excellent  heart. 

There  was  plenty  to  do  after  that  first  evening  for 
all  of  us.  I  got  sleepy  Miss  Baby  to  bed  as  soon  as 
might  be.  The  poor  dear,  she  was  sleepy !  I  remem- 
ber how,  when  she  knelt  down  in  her  little  white 
nightgown  to  say  her  prayers,  she  could  only  just 
get  out,  "  T'ank  God  for  b'inging  us  safe  home  ;  "  as 
she  had  evidently  been  taught  to  say  after  a  journey. 


52  NURSE  HEATHERDALE'S  STOKY. 

"  Baby  thinks  that's  enough,  when  she's  been  ter- 
a- veiling,"  explained  Miss  Lally. 

Then  I  set  to  work  to  unpack,  and  it  was  quite 
surprising  how  handy  the  two  elder  girls  —  and  not 
they  only,  but  Blaster  Francis  too  —  were  in  helping 
me,  and  explaining  where  their  things  were  kept  and 
all  the  nursery  ways.  Then  I  had  to  be  shown  Miss 
Bess's  room,  and  nearly  offended  her  little  ladyship 
by  saying  I  hadn't  time  just  then  to  settle  about  the 
new  covers.  For  I  was  determined  to  give  some 
attention  to  Master  Francis  also. 

His  room  was  very  plain,  not  to  say  bare ;  not 
that  I  hold  with  pampering  boys,  but  he  being  deli- 
cate, it  did  seem  to  me  he  might  have  had  a  couch 
or  easy-chair  to  rest  his  poor  leg.  He  was  very  eager 
to  make  the  best  of  things,  telling  me  I  had  no  idea 
what  a  beautiful  view  there  was  from  his  windows, 
of  which  there  were  three. 

"  I  love  the  tower,"  he  said.  "  I  wouldn't  change 
my  room  here  for  any  other  in  the  house." 

And  I  must  say  I  thought  it  was  very  nice  of  him 
to  put  things  in  that  way,  considering  too  the  sharp 
tone  in  which  I  had  heard  his  aunt  speak  to  him  that 
very  evening. 

When  I  woke  the  next  morning  I  found  that 
Mrs.  Brent's  words  had  come  true,  for  the  sun  was 
pouring  in  at  the  window,  and  when  I  drew  up  the 
blind  and  looked  out  I  would  scarce  have  known  the 
place  to  be  the  same.  The  outlook  was  bare,  to  be 


A   NURSERY  TEA.  53 

sure,  compared  with  the  well-wooded  country  about 
my  home;  but  the  grounds  just  around  the  house 
were  carefully  kept,  though  in  a  plain  way,  no 
bedding-out  plants  or  rare  foreign  shrubs,  such  as 
I  had  been  used  to  see  at  Mr.  Wyngate's  country 
place.  But  all  about  Treliian  there  was  the  charm 
which  no  money  will  buy  —  the  charm  of  age, 
very  difficult  to  put  into  words,  though  I  felt  it 
strongly. 

A  little  voice  just  then  came  across  the  room. 

"  Nurse,  dear."  It  was  Miss  Lalage.  "  It's  a  very 
fine  day,  isn't  it?  I  have  been  watching  the  sun 
getting  up  ever  so  long.  When  I  first  wokened,  it 
was  nearly  quite  dark." 

I  looked  at  the  child.  She  was  sitting  up  in  her 
cot ;  her  face  looked  tired,  and  her  large  gray  eyes 
had  dark  lines  beneath  them,  as  if  she  had  not  slept 
well.  Miss  Baby  was  still  slumbering  away  in  happy 
content  —  she  was  a  child  to  sleep,  to  be  sure!  A 
round  of  the  clock  was  nothing  for  her. 

"My  dear  Miss  Lally,"  I  said,  "you  have  never 
been  awake  since  dawn,  surely.  Is  your  head  ach- 
ing, or  is  something  the  matter  ?  " 

She  gave  a  little  sigh. 

"No,  fank  you,  it's  nothing  but  finking,  I  mean 
th-inking.  Oh !  I  wish  I  could  speak  quite  right, 
Bess  says  it's  so  babyish." 

"Thinking!  and  what  have  you  been  thinking 
about,  dearie?  You  should  have  none  but  happy 


54  NURSE  HEATHERDALE'S  STORY. 

thoughts.  Isn't  it  nice  to  be  at  home  again?  and 
this  beautiful  summer  weather !  We  can  go  such 
nice  walks.  You've  got  to  show  me  all  the  pretty 
places  about." 

"  Yes,"  said  Miss  Lally.  "  I'd  like  that,  but  we'll 
be  having  lessons  next  week,  —  not  all  day  long,  we 
can  go  beautiful  walks  in  the  afternoons." 

"  Was  it  about  lessons  you  were  troubling  your 
little  head?" 

"  No,"  she  said,  though  not  very  heartily.  "  I 
don't  like  them  much,  at  least  not  those  very  high  up 
sums  —  up  you  know  to  the  very  top  of  the  slate  — 
that  won't  never  come  right.  But  I  wasn't  finking 
of  them ;  it  was  about  poor  mamma,  having  such  ter- 
oubles.  Francie  and  I  do  fink  such  a  lot  about  it. 
Bess  does  too,  but  she's  so  clever,  she's  sure  she'll  do 
something  when  she's  big  to  get  a  lot  of  money  for 
papa  and  mamma.  But  I'm  not  clever,  and  Francie 
has  got  his  sore  leg;  we  can't  fink  of  anything  we 
could  do,  unless  we  could  find  some  fairies ;  but 
Francie's  sure  there  aren't  any,  and  he's  past  ten,  so 
he  must  know." 

"  You  can  do  a  great  deal,  dear  Miss  Lally,"  I  said. 
"Don't  get  it  into  your  head  you  can't.  Rich  or  poor, 
there's  nothing  helps  papas  and  mammas  so  much  as 
their  children  being  good,  and  loving,  and  obedient ; 
and  who  knows  but  what  Master  Francis  may  be  a 
very  clever  man  some  day,  whether  his  poor  leg  gets 
better  or  not." 


A  NUKSERY  TEA.  55 

The  little  girl  seemed  pleased.  It  needed  but  a 
kind  word  or  two  to  cheer  her  up  at  any  time. 

"  Oh  !  I  am  so  glad  Sharp  has  gone  away  and  you 
corned,"  she  said. 

She  was  rather  silent  while  I  was  dressing  her, 
but  when  she  had  had  her  bath,  and  I  was  putting 
on  her  shoes  and  stockings,  she  began  again. 

"  Nurse,"  she  asked,  "  do  stockings  cost  a  lot  of 
money  to  buy  ?  " 

"  Pretty  well,"  I  said.  "  At  my  home,  mother 
always  taught  us  to  knit  our  own.  I  could  show 
you  a  pair  I  knitted  before  I  was  much  bigger  than 
you." 

How  the  child's  face  did  light  up ! 

"I've  seen  a  little  girl  knitting  who's  not  much 
bigger  than  me.  Couldn't  you  show  me  how  to  make 
some  stockings,  and  then  mamma  wouldn't  have  to 
buy  so  many  ?  " 

"  Certainly  I  could ;  I  have  plenty  of  needles  with 
me,  and  I  dare  say  we  could  get  some  wool,"  I  re- 
plied. "  I'll  tell  you  what,  Miss  Lally ;  you  might 
knit  some  for  Master  Francis ;  that  would  be  pleas- 
ing him  as  well  as  your  mamma.  There's  a  village 
not  far  off,  I  suppose  —  you  can  generally  buy  wool 
at  a  village  shop." 

"There's  our  village  across  the  park,  and  there's 
two  shops.  I'll  ask  Bess  ;  she'll  know  if  we  could 
get  wool.  Oh  !  nurse,  how  pleased  I  am ;  I  wonder 
if  we  could  go  to-day.  I've  got  some  pennies  and  a 


56  NURSE  HEATHERDALE'S  STORY. 

shilling.  I  do  like  to  have  nice  things  to  think  of. 
I  wish  Francie  would  be  quick,  I  do  so  want  to  tell 
him,  or  do  you  think  I  should  keep  it  a  surprise  for 
him?" 

And  she  danced  about  in  her  eager  delight,  which 
at  last  woke  Miss  Baby,  who  opened  her  eyes  and 
stared  about  her,  with  a  sleepy  smile  of  content  on 
her  plump  rosy  face.  She  was  a  picture  of  a  child, 
and  so  easy  minded.  It  is  wonderful,  to  be  sure, 
how  children  brought  up  like  little  birds  in  one  nest 
yet  differ  from  each  other.  I  began  to  feel  very 
satisfied  that  I  should  never  regret  having  come  to 
Treluan. 


CHAPTER  V. 

THE  SHOP   IN  THE   VILLAGE. 

BEFORE  many  days  had  passed  I  felt  quite  settled 
down.  The  weather  was  most  lovely  for  some  time 
just  then,  and  this  I  think  always  helps  to  make  one 
feel  more  at  home  in  a  strange  place.  That  first  day, 
and  for  two  or  three  following,  we  could  not  go  long 
walks,  as  I  had  really  so  much  to  see  to  indoors, 
Miss  Bess  had  to  make  up  her  mind  to  wait  as  pa- 
tiently as  she  could,  till  other  things  were  attended  to, 
for  the  doing  up  of  her  room,  and,  what  I  was  more 
sorry  for,  poor  Miss  Lally  had  also  to  wait  about 
beginning  the  knitting  she  had  so  set  her  heart  on. 

I  think  it  was  the  fourth  day  after  our  arrival 
that  I  began  at  last  to  feel  pretty  clear.  All  the  nurs- 
ery drawers  and  cupboards  tidied  up  and  neatly  ar- 
ranged; the  children's  clothes  looked  over  and  planned 
about  for  the  rest  of  the  summer.  My  lady  went 
over  them  with  me,  and  I  could  see  that  it  was  a 
comfort  to  her  to  feel  assured  that  I  understood  the 
need  for  economy,  and  prided  myself,  thanks  to  my 
good  old  mother,  on  neat  patches  and  darns  quite 
as  much  as  on  skill  on  making  new  things.  My 
poor  lady  —  it  went  to  my  heart  to  see  how  often 

67 


58 

she  would  have  liked  to  get  fresh  and  pretty  frocks 
and  hats  for  the  young  ladies,  for  she  had  good  taste 
and  great  love  of  order.  But  after  all  there  is  often 
a  good  deal  of  pleasure  in  contriving  and  making 
the  best  of  what  one  has. 

"  You  must  take  nurse  a  good  walk  to-day,  chil- 
dren," said  my  lady  as  she  left  the  room.  "  I  shall 
be  busy  with  your  papa,  but  you  might  get  as  far  as 
the  sea,  I  think,  if  you  took  old  Jacob  and  the  little 
cart  for  Baby  if  she  gets  tired,  and  for  Francis  if  his 
leg  hurts  him.  How  has  it  been,  by  the  bye,  for  the 
last  day  or  two,  Francis  ?  " 

Her  tone  was  rather  cold,  but  still  I  could  see  a 
little  flush  of  pleasure  come  over  the  boy's  face. 

"  Oh !  much  better,  thank  you,  auntie,"  he  said 
eagerly.  "  It's  only  just  after  the  day  in  the  railway 
that  it  seems  to  hurt  more." 

"  Then  try  to  be  bright  and  cheerful,"  she  said. 
44  Remember  you  are  not  the  only  one  in  the  world 
that  has  troubles  to  bear." 

The  boy  didn't  answer,  but  I  could  see  his  thin 
little  face  grow  pale  again,  and  I  just  wished  that  my 
lady  had  stopped  at  her  first  kindly  inquiry.  A  deal 
of  mischief  is  done,  it  seems  to  me,  by  people  not 
knowing  when  it  is  best  to  stop. 

Jacob,  the  donkey,  was  old  and  no  mistake. 
Larkins's  "  Peter  "  was  young  compared  to  him,  and 
the  cart  was  nothing  but  a  cart  such  as  light  luggage 
might  be  carried  in.  It  had  no  seats,  but  we  took  a 


THE    SHOP   IN    THE   VILLAGE.  59 

couple  of  footstools  with  us,  which  served  the  pur- 
pose, and  many  a  pleasant  ramble  we  had  with  the 
shabby  little  old  cart  and  poor  Jacob. 

"  Which  way  shall  we  go  ?  "  said  Miss  Bess,  as  we 
started  down  the  drive.  "  You  know,  nurse,  there's 
ever  so  many  ways  to  the  sea  here.  It's  all  divided 
into  separate  little  bays.  You  can't  get  from  one  to 
the  other  except  at  low  tide,  and  with  a  lot  of  scram- 
bling over  the  rocks,  so  we  generally  fix  before  we 
start  which  bay  we'll  go  to." 

uOh!  do  let's  go  to  Polwithan  Bay!"  said  Miss 
Lally. 

"It's  not  nearly  so  pretty  as  Trewan,"  said  Miss 
Bess,  "  and  there  are  the  smugglers'  caves  at  Trewan. 
We  often  call  it  the  Smugglers'  Bay  because  of  that. 
We've  got  names  of  our  own  for  the  bays  as  well  as 
the  proper  ones." 

"  There's  one  we  call  Picnic  Bay,"  said  Master 
Francis,  "because  there  are  such  beautiful  big  flat 
stones  for  picnic  tables.  But  I  think  the  Smugglers' 
Bay  is  the  most  curious  of  all.  I'm  sure  nurse  would 
like  to  see  it.  Why  do  you  want  to  go  to  Polwithan, 
Lally  ?  It  is  rather  a  stupid  little  bay." 

"  Can  we  go  to  the  Smugglers'  Bay  by  the  vil- 
lage ?  "  asked  Miss  Lally,  and  then  I  understood  her, 
though  I  did  not  know  that  tightly  clutched  in  her 
hot  little  hand  were  the  shilling  and  the  three  or  four 
pennies  she  had  taken  out  of  her  money  box  on  the 
chance  of  buying  the  wool  for  her  stockings. 


60  NUBSE  HEATHERDALE'S  STORY. 

"  It  would  be  ever  such  a  round,"  said  Miss  Bess  ; 
but  then  she  added  politely  —  she  was  very  particu- 
lar about  politeness,  when  she  wasn't  put  out  —  "  but 
of  course  if  nurse  wants  to  see  the  village  that  wouldn't 
matter.  We've  plenty  of  time.  Would  you  like  to 
see  it,  nurse  ?  " 

A  glance  at  Miss  Lally's  anxious  little  face  decided 
me. 

"  Well,  I  won't  say  but  what  it  would  interest  me 
to  see  the  village,"  I  replied.  "  Of  course  it's  just  as 
well  and  might  be  handy  for  me  to  know  my  way 
about,  so  as  to  be  able  to  find  the  post-office  or  fetch 
any  little  thing  from  the  shop  if  it  were  wanted." 

This  was  quite  true,  though  I  won't  deny  but  that 
another  reason  was  strongest  and  Miss  Lally  knew  it, 
for  she  crept  up  to  me  and  slid  her  little  hand  into 
mine  gratefully. 

"  Very  well,  then,"  said  Miss  Bess,  "  we'll  go  round 
by  the  village.  But  remember  if  you're  tired,  Lally, 
you  mustn't  grumble,  for  it  was  you  that  first  spoke 
of  going  that  way." 

"  There's  the  cart  if  Miss  Lally's  tired,"  I  said. 
"  Three  could  easily  get  into  it,  and  Jacob  can't  be 
knocked  up  if  only  Miss  Baby  goes  in  it  all  the  way 
there." 

"  Nurse,"  said  Miss  Lally  suddenly  —  I  don't  think 
she  had  heard  what  we  were  saying  —  "  there's  two 
shops  in  the  village." 

"Are  there,  my  dear,"  I  said;  "and  is  one  the 
post-office?  And  what  do  they  sell?" 


THE   SHOP   IN   THE   VILLAGE.  61 

"  Yes,  one  is  the  post-office,  but  they  sell  other 
things  'aside  stamps,"  Miss  Lally  replied.  "  They  are 
both  everything  shops." 

"  But  the  not  the  post-office  one  is  much  the  nicest," 
said  Master  Francis.  "  It's  kept  by  old  Prideaux  — 
he's  an  old  sailor  and  —  Here  the  boy  looked 
round,  but  there  was  no  one  in  sight.  Still  he  low- 
ered his  voice.  "  People  do  say  that  after  he  left  off 
being  a  proper  sailor  he  was  a  smuggler.  It  runs  in 
the  family,  Mrs.  Brent  says,"  he  went  on  in  the  old- 
fashioned  way  I  noticed  in  all  the  children.  "  His 
father  was  a  regular  smuggler.  Brent  says  she's  seen 
some  queer  transactions  when  she  was  a  girl  in  the 
kitchen  behind  the  shop." 

"I  thought  Mrs.  Brent  was  a  stranger  in  these 
parts  by  her  birth  and  upbringing,"  I  said. 

"  So  she  is,"  said  Master  Francis,  "  but  she  came 
here  on  a  visit  when  she  was  a  girl  to  her  uncle  at 
the  High  Meadows  Farm,  and  that's  how  she  came 
first  to  Treluan.  Grandfather  was  alive  then,  and 
papa  and  Uncle  Hulbert  were  boys.  Even  then 
Prideaux  was  an  old  man.  Uncle  Hulbert  says  he 
knows  lots  of  queer  stories  —  he  does  tell  them  some- 
times, but  not  as  if  they  had  happened  here,  and  you 
have  to  pretend  to  think  he  and  his  father  had  noth- 
ing to  do  with  them  themselves." 

"  It  was  he  that  told  us  first  about  the  smugglers' 
caves,  wasn't  it?"  said  Miss  Bess.  "Fancy,  nurse, 
some  treasures  were  found  in  one  of  the  caves,  not 


62  NDRSE  HEATHERDALE'S  STORY. 

so  very  long  ago,  hid  away  in  a  dark  corner  far  in. 
There  was  lace  and  some  beautiful  fine  silk  stockings 
and  some  bottles  of  brandy  —  " 

"  And  a  lot  of  cigars  and  tobacco,  but  they  had 
gone  all  bad,  and  some  of  the  brandy  hadn't  any 
taste  in  it,  though  some  was  quite  good.  But  grand- 
papa was  a  dreadfully  honest  man;  he  would  send 
all  the  things  up  to  London,  just  as  they  were  found, 
for  he  said  they  belonged  to  the  Queen." 

"  I  wonder  if  the  Queen  wored  the  silk  stockings 
her  own  self?"  said  Miss  Lally. 

"  If  we  found  some  treasures,"  said  Miss  Bess,  "  do 
you  think  we'd  have  to  send  them  to  the  Queen  too  ? 
It  would  be  very  greedy  of  her  to  keep  them,  when 
she  has  such  lots  and  lots  of  everything." 

"  That's  just  because  she's  queen ;  she  can't  help 
it.  It's  part  of  being  a  queen,  and  I  dare  say  she 
gives  away  lots  too.  Besides,  you  wouldn't  care  for 
brandy  or  cigars,  Bess?"  said  Master  Francis. 

"We  could  sell  them,"  answered  Miss  Bess,  "if 
they  were  good." 

"  P'raps  the  Queen  would  send  us  a  nice  present 
back,"  said  Miss  Lally.  "Fancy,  if  she  sent  us  a 
wh.ole  pound,  what  beautiful  things  we  could  buy." 

"  It  would  be  great  fun  to  find  treasures,  whatever 
they  were,"  said  Miss  Bess.  "If  we  see  old  Pri- 
deaux  to-day,  I'll  ask  him  if  he  thinks  possibly 
there's  still  some  in  the  caves.  Only  it  wouldn't  do 
to  go  into  his  shop  on  purpose  to  ask  him — he'd 
think  it  funny." 


THEN  THERE  BURST  UPON  THE  VIEW  A  WONDERFUL  SURPRISE.  — p.  63. 


THE   SHOP   IN   THE   VILLAGE.  63 

"  And  you'll  have  to  be  very  careful  how  you  ask 
him,"  said  Master  Francis.  "  Besides,  I'm  quite  sure 
if  there  were  any  to  be  found,  he'd  have  found  them 
before  this." 

"  Does  he  sell  wool  in  his  shop,  do  you  think,  Miss 
Bess?"  I  inquired,  and  I  felt  Miss  Lally's  hand 
squeeze  mine.  "  Wool,  or  worsted  for  knitting 
stockings,  I  mean.  I  want  to  get  some,  and  that 
would  be  a  reason  for  speaking  to  him." 

"  I  dare  say  he  does ;  at  least  his  daughter's  always 
knitting,  and  she  must  get  wool  somewhere.  Any- 
way we  can  ask,"  answered  Miss  Bess,  quite  pleased 
with  the  idea. 

"Now,  nurse,"  said  Master  Francis  suddenly, 
"  keep  your  eyes  open.  When  we  turn  into  the  field 
at  the  end  of  this  little  lane  —  we've  come  by  a  short- 
cut to  the  village,  for  the  cart  can  go  through  the 
field  quite  well  —  you'll  have  your  first  good  view 
of  the  sea.  We  can  see  it  from  some  of  the  windows 
at  Treluan  and  from  the  end  of  the  terrace,  but 
nothing  like  as  well." 

I  was  glad  he  had  prepared  me,  for  we  had  been 
interested  in  our  talking,  and  I  hadn't  paid  much 
attention  to  the  way  we  were  going.  Now  I  did 
keep  my  eyes  open,  and  I  was  well  rewarded.  The 
field  was  a  sloping  one  —  sloping  upwards,  I  mean, 
as  we  entered  it  —  and  till  we  got  to  the  top  of  the 
rising  ground  we  saw  nothing  but  the  clear  sky  above 
the  grass,  but  then  there  burst  upon  the  view  a  won- 


64  NURSE  HEATHERDALE'S  STORY. 

derful  surprise.  The  coast-line  lay  before  us  for  a 
considerable  distance  at  each  side.  Just  below  us 
were  the  rocky  bays  or  creeks  the  children  had  told 
me  of.  the  sand  gleaming  yellow  and  white  in  the 
sunshine,  for  the  tide  was  half-way  out,  though  near 
enough  still  for  us  to  see  the  glisten  of  the  foam  and 
the  edge  of  the  little  waves,  as  they  rippled  in 
sleepily.  And  further  out  the  deep  purple-blue  of 
the  ocean,  softening  into  a  misty  gray,  there,  where 
the  sky  and  the  water  met  or  melted  into  each  other. 
A  little  to  the  right  rose  the  smoke  of  several  houses 
—  lazily,  for  it  was  a  very  still  day.  These  houses 
lay  nestled  in  together,  on  the  way  to  the  shore,  and 
seemed  scarcely  enough  to  be  called  a  village ;  but 
as  we  left  the  field  again  to  rejoin  the  road,  I  saw 
that  these  few  houses  were  only  the  centre  of  it,  so 
to  speak,  as  others  straggled  along  the  road  in  both 
directions  for  some  way,  the  church  being  one  of  the 
buildings  the  nearest  to  Treluan  house. 

"  It  is  a  beautiful  view,"  said  I,  after  a  moment's 
silence,  as  we  all  stood  still  at  the  top  of  the  slope, 
the  children  glancing  at  me,  as  if  to  see  what  I 
thought  of  it.  u  I've  never  seen  anything  approach- 
ing to  it  before,  and  yet  it's  a  bare  sort  of  country  — 
many  wouldn't  believe  it  could  be  so  beautiful  with 
so  few  trees,  but  I  suppose  the  sea  makes  up  for 
a  good  deal." 

"  And  it's  such  a  lovely  day,"  said  Master  Francis. 
" 1  should  say  the  sun  makes  up  for  a  good  deal. 


THE   SHOP   IN   THE    VILLAGE.  65 

We've  lots  of  days  here  when  it's  so  gray  and  dull 
that  the  sea  and  the  sky  seem  all  muddled  up 
together.  I'm  not  so  very  fond  of  the  sea  myself. 
People  say  it's  so  beautiful  in  a  storm,  and  I  suppose 
it  is,  but  I  don't  care  for  that  kind  of  beauty,  there's 
something  so  furious  and  wild  about  it.  I  don't 
think  raging  should  be  counted  beautiful.  Shouldn't 
we  only  call  good  things  beautiful  ?  " 

He  looked  up  with  a  puzzle  in  his  eyes.  Master 
Francis  always  had  thoughts  beyond  his  age  and  far 
beyond  me  to  answer. 

"  I  can't  say,  I'm  sure,"  I  replied.  "  It  would  take 
very  clever  people  indeed  to  explain  things  like  that, 
though  there's  verses  in  the  Bible  that  do  seem  to 
bear  upon  it,  especially  in  the  Psalms." 

"  I  know  there  are,  but  when  it  tells  of  Heaven, 
it  says  '  there  shall  be  no  more  sea,' "  said  Master 
Francis  very  gravely.  "And  I  think  I  like  that 
best." 

"  Dear  Francie,"  said  Miss  Lally,  taking  his  hand, 
as  she  always  did  when  she  saw  him  looking  extra 
grave,  though  of  course  she  could  not  understand 
what  he  had  been  saying. 

We  were  out  of  the  field  by  this  time,  and  Miss 
Bess  caught  hold  of  Jacob's  reins,  for  up  till  now 
the  old  fellow  had  been  droning  along  at  his  own 
pace. 

"  Come  along,  Jacob,  waken  up,"  she  said,  as  she 
tugged  at  him,  "  or  we'll  not  get  to  Polwithan  Bay 


66  NURSE  HEATHERDALE'S  STORY. 

to-day,  specially  if  we're   going   to  gossip  with   old 
Prideaux  on  the  way." 

We  passed  the  church  in  a  moment,  and  close 
beside  it  the  Vicarage. 

"  That's  where  Miss  Kirstin  lives,"  said  Miss  Bess. 
"  Come  along  quick,  I  don't  want  her  to  see  us." 

"Don't  you  like  her,  my  dear?"  I  said,  a  little 
surprised. 

"  Oh  yes !  we  like  her  very  well,  but  she  makes  us 
think  of  lessons,  and  while  it  is  holidays  we  may  as 
well  forget  them,"  and  by  the  way  in  which  Master 
Francis  and  Miss  Lally  joined  her  in  hurrying  past 
Mr.  Kirstin's  house,  I  could  see  they  were  of  the 
same  mind. 

Miss  Kirstin,  when  I  came  to  know  her,  I  found 
to  be  a  good  well-meaning  young  lady,  but  she  hadn't 
the  knack  of  making  lessons  very  interesting.  It 
wasn't  perhaps  altogether  her  fault;  in  those  days 
books  for  young  people,  both  for  lessons  and  amuse- 
ment, were  very  different  from  what  they  are  now. 
School-books  were  certainly  very  dry  and  dull,  and 
there  was  a  sort  of  feeling  that  making  lessons 
pleasant  or  taking  to  children  would  have  been 
weak  indulgence. 

The  church  was  a  beautiful  old  building.  I  am 
not  learned  enough  to  describe  it,  and  perhaps  after 
all  it  was  more  beautiful  from  age  than  from  any- 
thing remarkable  in  itself.  I  came  to  love  it  well; 
it  was  a  real  grief  to  me  and  to  others  besides  me 


THE   SHOP   IN   THE   VILLAGE.  67 

when  it  had  to  be  partly  pulled  down  a  few  years 
ago,  and  all  the  wonderful  growth  of  ivy  spoilt. 
Though  I  won't  say  but  what  our  new  vicar  —  the 
third  from  Mr.  Kirstin  our  present  one  is  —  is  well 
fitted  for  his  work,  both  with  rich  and  poor,  and  one 
whom  it  is  impossible  not  to  respect  as  well  as  love, 
though  Mr.  Kirstin  was  a  worthy  and  kind  old  man 
in  his  way. 

A  bit  farther  along  the  road  we  passed  the  post- 
office,  which  the  children  pointed  out  to  me.  The 
mistress  came  to  the  door  when  she  saw  us,  and 
curtsied  to  the  little  ladies,  with  a  smile  and  a  word 
of  "  Welcome  home  again,  Miss  Penrose ! "  She  took 
a  good  look  at  me  out  of  the  corner  of  her  eye,  I 
could  see.  For  having  lived  so  much  in  small 
country  places,  I  knew  how  even  a  fresh  servant  at 
the  big  house  will  set  all  the  village  talking. 

Miss  Lally  glanced  in  at  the  shop  window  as  we 
passed.  There  was  indeed,  as  she  had  said,  a  mixture 
of  "everything,"  from  tin  pails  and  mother-of-pearl 
buttons  to  red  herrings  and  tallow-candles. 

"  Nurse,"  she  whispered,  "  in  case  we  can't  get  the 
wool  at  Prideaux',  we  might  come  back  here,  but 
I'm  afraid  Bess  wouldn't  like  to  turn  back.  Oh !  I 
do  hope"  —  with  one  of  her  little  sighs  —  "they'll 
have  it  at  the  other  shop." 

And  so  they  had,  though  when  we  got  there  a 
little  difficulty  arose.  The  two  elder  children  both 
wanted  to  come  in,  having  got  their  heads  full  of 


68  NURSE  HEATHERDALE'S  STORY. 

asking  the  old  man  about  the  smugglers'  caves,  and 
thinking  it  was  for  myself  I  wanted  the  wool.  Never 
a  word  said  poor  Miss  Lally,  when  her  sister  told 
her  to  stay  outside  with  Miss  Baby  and  the  cart; 
but  I  was  getting  to  know  the  look  of  her  little  face 
too  well  by  this  time  not  to  understand  the  puckers 
about  her  eyes,  and  the  droop  at  the  corners  of  her 
mouth. 

"We  may  as  well  all  go  in,"  I  said,  lifting  Miss 
Baby  out  of  the  cart.  "  There's  no  one  else  in  the 
shop,  and  I  want  Miss  Lally's  opinion  about  the 
wool." 

"  Lally's  !  "  said  Miss  Bess  rather  scornfully ;  "  she 
doesn't  know  anything  about  wool,  or  knitting  stock- 
ings, nurse." 

"  Ah !  well,  but  perhaps  she's  going  to  know  some- 
thing about  it,"  I  said.  "It's  a  little  secret  we've 
got,  Miss  Bess ;  you  shall  hear  about  it  all  in  good 
time." 

"  Oh,  well,  if  it's  a  secret,"  said  Miss  Bess  good- 
naturedly — she  was  a  nice-minded  child,  as  they  all 
were  —  "  Franz  and  I  will  keep  out  of  the  way  while 
you  and  Lally  get  your  wool.  We'll  talk  to  old 
Prideaux." 

He  was  in  the  shop,  &s  well  as  his  daughter,  who 
was  knitting  away  as  the  children  had  described  her, 
and  the  old  wife  came  hurrying  out  of  the  kitchen, 
when  she  heard  it  was  the  little  gentry  from  Treluan 
that  were  in  the  shop.  They  did  make  a  fuss  over 


THE   SHOP    IN   THE    VILLAGE.  69 

the  children,  to  be  sure  ;  it  wasn't  easy  for  Miss  Lally 
and  me  to  get  our  bit  of  business  done.  But  Sally 
Prideaux  found  us  just  what  we  wanted  —  the  same 
wool  that  she  was  knitting  stockings  of  herself,  only 
she  had  not  much  of  it  in  stock,  and  might  be  some 
little  time  before  she  could  get  more.  But  I  told 
Miss  Lally  there'd  be  enough  for  a  short  pair  of  socks 
for  her  cousin  —  boys  didn't  wear  knickerbockers  and 
long  stockings  in  those  days  —  adding  that  it  was 
best  not  to  undertake  too  big  a  piece  of  work  for  the 
first. 

The  wool  cost  one-and-sixpence.  It  was  touching 
to  see  the  little  creature  counting  over  the  money 
she  had  been  holding  tightly  in  her  hand  all  the  way, 
and  her  look  of  distress  when  she  found  it  only  came 
up  to  one-and-fourpence-halfpenny. 

"  Don't  you  trouble,  my  dear,"  I  said,  "  I  have  some 
coppers  in  my  pocket." 

She  thanked  me  as  if  I  had  given  her  three  pounds 
instead  of  three  halfpence,  saying  in  a  whisper  — 
"  I'll  pay  you  back,  nursie,  when  I  get  my  twopence 
next  Saturday ; "  and  then  as  happy  as  a  little  queen 
she  clambered  down  off  the  high  stool,  her  precious 
parcel  in  her  hand. 

"Won't  Francie  be  pleased?"  she  said.  "They 
must  be  ready  for  his  birthday,  nurse.  And  won't 
mamma  be  pleased  when  she  finds  I  can  knit  stock- 
ings, and  that  she  won't  have  to  buy  any  more  ?  " 


CHAPTER  VI. 
THE  SMUGGLERS'  CAVES. 

THE  others  seemed  to  have  been  very  well  enter- 
tained while  Miss  Lally  and  I  were  busy.  Mrs. 
Prideaux  had  set  Miss  Baby  on  the  counter,  where 
she  was  admiring  her  to  her  heart's  content  —  Miss 
Baby  smiling  and  chattering,  apparently  very  well 
pleased.  Miss  Bess  and  Master  Francis  were  talking 
eagerly  with  old  Prideaux ;  they  turned  to  us  as  we 
came  near. 

"  Oh,  nurse  !  "  said  Miss  Bess,  "  Mr.  Prideaux  says 
that  he  shouldn't  wonder  if  there  were  treasures 
hidden  away  in  the  smugglers'  caves,  though  it 
wouldn't  be  safe  for  us  to  look  for  them.  He  says 
they'd  be  so  very  far  in,  where  it's  quite,  quite 
dark." 

"And  one  or  two  of  the  caves  really  go  a  tre- 
mendous way  underground.  Didn't  you  say  there's 
one  they've  never  got  to  the  end  of?"  asked  Master 
Francis. 

"  So  they  say,"  replied  the  old  man,  with  his  queer 
Cornish  accent.  It  did  sound  strange  to  me  then, 
their  talk  —  though  I've  got  so  used  to  it  now  that  I 
scarce  notice  it  at  all.  "  But  I  wouldn't  advise  you 

70 


Miss   BESS  AND  MASTER  FRANCIS  WERE    TALKING   EAGERLY  WITH  OLD 
PRIDEAUX.  — p.  70. 


THE  SMUGGLERS'  CAVES.  71 

to  begin  searching  for  treasures,  Master  Francis.  If 
there's  any  there,  you'd  have  to  dig  to  get  at  them. 
I  re  member  when  I  was  a  boy  a  deal  of  talk  about 
the  caves,  and  some  of  us  wasted  our  time  seeking 
and  digging.  But  the  only  one  that  could  have  told 
for  sure  where  to  look  was  gone.  He  met  his  death 
some  distance  from  here,  one  terrible  stormy  winter, 
and  took  his  secret  with  him.  I  have  heard  tell  as 
he  '  walks '  in  one  of  the  caves,  when  the  weather's 
quite  beyond  the  common  stormy.  But  it's  not 
much  use,  for  at  such  times  folk  are  fain  to  stay  at 
home,  so  there's  not  much  chance  of  any  one  ever 
meeting  him." 

"  Then  how  has  he  ever  been  seen  ?  "  asked  Miss 
Bess  in  her  quick  way ;  "  and  who  was  he,  Mr.  Pri- 
deaux  ?  do  tell  us." 

But  the  old  man  didn't  seem  inclined  to  say  much 
more.  Perhaps  indeed  Miss  Bess  was  too  sharp  for 
him,  and  he  did  not  know  how  to  answer  her  first 
question. 

"  Such  things  is  best  not  said  much  about,"  he 
replied  mysteriously ;  "  and  talking  of  treasures,  by 
all  accounts  you'd  have  a  better  chance  of  finding 
some  nearer  home." 

He  smiled,  as  if  he  could  have  said  more  had  he 
chosen  to  do  so.  The  children  opened  their  eyes  in 
bewilderment. 

"  What  do  you  mean  ?  "  exclaimed  the  two  elder 
ones.  Miss  Lally's  mind  was  running  too  much 


72  NURSE   HEATHERD ALE'S   STORY. 

on  her  stockings  for  her  to  pay  much  attention. 
Prideaux  did  not  seem  at  all  embarrassed. 

"Well,  sir,  it's  no  secret  hereabouts,"  he  said, 
addressing  Master  Francis  in  particular,  "that  the 
old,  old  Squire,  Sir  David,  the  last  of  that  name  — 
there  were  several  David  Penroses  before  him,  but 
never  one  since  —  it's  no  secret,  as  I  was  saying,  that 
a  deal  of  money  or  property  of  some  kind  disap- 
peared in  his  last  years,  and  it  stands  to  reason  that, 
being  as  great  a  miser  as  was  ever  heard  tell  of,  he 
couldn't  have  spent  it.  Why,  more  than  half  of 
the  lands  changed  hands  in  his  time,  and  what  did 
he  do  with  what  he  got  for  them  ?  " 

"  That  was  our  great,  great  grand-uncle,"  said  Mas- 
ter Francis  to  me  ;  "  you  remember  I  told  you  about 
him,  but  I  never  thought  —  "  he  stopped  short.  "  It 
is  very  queer,"  he  went  on  again,  as  if  speaking  to 
himself. 

But  just  then,  Miss  Baby  having  had  enough  of 
Mrs.  Prideaux'  pettings,  set  up  a  shout. 

"  Nurse,  nurse,"  she  said,  "  Baby  wants  to  go  back 
to  Jacob.  Poor  Jacob  so  tired  waiting.  Dood-bye, 
Mrs.  Pideaux,"  and  she  began  wriggling  to  get  off 
the  counter,  so  that  I  had  to  hurry  forward  to  lift 
her  down. 

"  We'd  best  be  going  on,"  I  said,  "  or  we'll  be 
losing  the  finest  part  of  the  afternoon." 

I  didn't  feel  quite  sure  that  Prideaux'  talk  was 
quite  what  my  lady  would  approve  of  for  the  children. 


THE  SMUGGLERS'  CAVES.  73 

They  had  a  way  of  taking  things  up  more  seriously 
than  is  common  with  such  young  creatures,  and  cer- 
tainly they  had  got  in  the  way  —  and  I  couldn't  but 
feel  but  what  my  lady  was  to  blame  for  this  —  of 
thinking  too  much  of  the  family  troubles,  especially 
the  want  of  wealth,  which  seemed  to  them  a  greater 
misfortune  than  it  need  have  done.  Still,  being  quite 
a  stranger,  and  them  seeming  at  liberty  to  talk  to  the 
people  about  as  they  did,  I  didn't  feel  that  it  would 
have  been  my  place  to  begin  making  new  rules  or 
putting  a  stop  to  things,  as  likely  as  not  quite  harm- 
less. I  resolved,  however,  to  find  out  my  lady's 
wishes  in  such  matters  at  the  first  opportunity. 

Another  half  hour  brought  us  close  to  the  shore ; 
the  road  was  a  good  one,  being  used  for  carting 
gravel  and  sea-weed  in  large  quantities  to  the  vil- 
lage and  round  about  from  the  little  bay  —  Treluan 
Bay,  that  is  to  say  —  it  led  directly  to.  But  as  we 
were  bound  for  Polwithan  Bay,  where  the  smugglers' 
caves  were,  and  had  made  a  round  for  the  sake  of 
coming  through  the  village,  we  had  to  cross  several 
fields  and  follow  a  rough  track  instead  of  going 
straight  down  to  the  sands.  Jacob  didn't  seem  to 
mind,  I  must  say,  nor  Miss  Baby  neither,  though  she 
must  have  been  pretty  well  jolted,  but  it  was  worth 
the  trouble. 

"  Isn't  it  lovely,  nurse  ?  "  said  Miss  Bess,  when  at 
last  we  found  ourselves  in  the  bay  on  the  smooth 
firm  sand,  the  sea  in  front  of  us,  and  so  encircled  on 


74  NUKSE  HEATHERDALE'S  STORY. 

three  sides  by  the  rocks  that  even  the  path  by  which 
we  had  come  was  hidden. 

"  This  bay  is  so  beautifully  shut  in,"  said  Master 
Francis.  "  You  could  really  fancy  that  there  was  no 
one  in  the  world  but  us  ourselves.  I  think  it's  such 
a  nice  feeling." 

"  It's  nice  when  we're  all  together,"  said  Miss 
Lally ;  "  it  would  be  rather  frightening  if  anybody 
was  alone." 

"  Alone  or  not,"  said  Miss  Bess,  "  it  wouldn't  be  at 
all  nice  when  tea-time  came  if  we  had  nothing  to  eat. 
And  fancy,  what  should  we  do  at  night  —  we  couldn't 
sleep  out  on  the  sand  ?  " 

"  We'd  have  to  go  into  the  caves,"  said  Master 
Francis.  "  It  would  be  rather  fun,  with  a  good  fire 
and  with  lots  of  blankets." 

"  And  where  would  you  get  blankets  from,  or  wood 
for  a  fire,  you  silly  boy  ?  "  said  Miss  Bess. 

"  Can  we  see  the  caves?"  I  asked,  for  having  heard 
so  much  talk  about  them,  I  felt  curious  to  see  them. 

"  Of  course,"  said  Master  Francis.  "  We  always 
explore  them  every  time  we  come  to  this  bay.  Do 
you  see  those  two  or  three  dark  holes  over  there 
among  the  rocks,  nurse  ?  Those  are  the  caves ;  come 
along  and  I'll  show  them  to  you." 

I  was  a  little  disappointed.     I  had  never  seen  a 
cave  in  my  life,  but  I  had  a  confused  remembrance 
of  pictures  in  an  old  book  at  home  of  some  caves  — 
"  The  Mammoth  Caves  of  Kentucky,"  I  afterwards 


THE  SMUGGLERS'  CAVES.  75 

found  they  were  —  which  looked  very  large  and 
wonderful,  and  somehow  I  suppose  I  had  all  the 
time  been  picturing  to  myself  that  these  ones  were 
something  of  the  same  kind.  I  didn't  say  anything 
to  the  children  though,  as  they  took  great  pride  in 
showing  me  all  the  sights.  And  after  all,  when  we 
got  to  the  caves,  they  turned  out  much  more  curious 
and  interesting  than  I  expected  from  the  outside. 
The  largest  one,  though  its  entrance  was  so  small, 
was  really  as  big  as  a  fair-sized  church,  and  narrow- 
ing again  far  back  into  a  dark  mysterious-looking 
passage,  from  which  Master  Francis  told  me  two  or 
three  smaller  chambers  opened  out. 

"And  then,"  he  said,  "after  that  the  passage  goes 
on  again  —  ever  so  far.  In  the  old  days  the  smug- 
glers blocked  it  up  with  pieces  of  rock,  and  it  isn't  so 
very  long  ago  that  this  was  found  out.  It  was  some- 
where down  along  that  passage  that  they  found  the 
things  I  told  you  of." 

We  went  a  few  yards  along  the  passage,  but  it 
soon  grew  almost  quite  dark,  and  we  turned  back 
again. 

"  I  can  quite  see  it  wouldn't  be  safe  to  try  explor- 
ing down  there,"  I  said. 

"  Yes,  I  suppose  so,"  said  Master  Francis,  with  a 
sigh.  "I  wish  I  could  find  some  treasure,  all  the 
same.  I  wonder  —  "  he  went  on,  then  stopped  short. 
"Nurse,"  he  began  again,  "did  you  hear  what  old 
Prideaux  said  of  our  great  grand-uncle  the  miser? 


76  NURSE  HEATHERDALE'S  STORY. 

Could  it  really  be  true,  do  you  think,  that  he  hid 
away  money  or  treasures  of  some  kind  ? "  and  he 
lowered  his  voice  mysteriously. 

"  I  shouldn't  think  it  was  likely,"  I  replied.  For 
I  had  a  feeling  that  it  would  not  be  well  for  the 
children  to  get  any  such  ideas  into  their  heads.  It 
sounded  to  me  like  a  sort  of  fairy  tale.  I  had  never 
come  across  anything  so  romantic  and  strange  in  real 
life.  Though  for  that  matter,  Treluan  itself,  and 
the  kind  of  old-world  feeling  about  the  place,  was 
quite  unlike  anything  I  had  ever  known  before. 

We  were  outside  the  cave  again  by  this  time ;  the 
sunshine  seemed  deliciously  warm  and  bright  after 
the  chill  and  gloom  inside.  Miss  Bess  had  been 
listening  eagerly  to  what  Master  Francis  was  saying. 

"I  can't  see  but  what  old  Sir  David  might  have 
hidden  treasures  away,  as  he  was  a  real  miser,"  she 
said. 

"  And  you  know  that  misers  are  so  suspicious,  that 
even  when  they're  dying  they  won't  trust  anybody. 
I  know  I've  read  a  story  like  that,"  said  the  boy. 
"  Oh !  Bess,  just  fancy  if  we  could  find  a  lot  of 
money  or  diamonds !  Wouldn't  uncle  and  aunt  be 
pleased?" 

His  whole  face  lighted  up  at  the  very  idea. 

"  I  dare  say  he  hid  it  all  away  in  a  stocking,"  put 
in  Miss  Lally,  whose  head  was  still  full  of  her  knit- 
ting. "I've  heard  a  story  of  an  old  woman  miser 
that  did  that." 


THE  SMUGGLERS'  CAVES.  77 

"And  where  would  the  stocking  be  hid?"  said 
Miss  Bess.  "  Besides,  if  a  stocking  was  ever  so  full, 
it  couldn't  hold  enough  money  to  be  a  real  treasure." 

"  It  might  be  stuffed  with  bank  notes,"  said  Master 
Francis.  "  There's  bank  notes  worth  ever  so  much ; 
aren't  there,  nurse  ?  " 

"I  remember  once  seeing  one  of  a  thousand 
pounds,"  I  said.  "  That  was  at  my  last  place.  Mr. 
Wyngate  had  to  do  with  business  in  the  city,  and  he 
once  brought  one  home  to  show  the  young  ladies." 

"  Well,  then,  you  see,  Queen,"  said  Miss  Lally, 
"there  might  be  a  stocking  with  enough  money  to 
make  papa  and  mamma  as  rich  as  rich." 

"I'm  quite  sure  Sir  David's  money  wasn't  put  in 
a  stocking,"  said  Miss  Bess  decidedly.  "  You've  got 
rather  silly  ideas,  Lally,  considering  you're  getting 
on  for  six." 

Miss  Lally  began  to  look  rather  doleful.  She  had 
been  so  bright  and  cheerful  all  day  that  I  didn't  like 
to  see  her  little  face  overcast.  We  had  left  Jacob 
outside  the  cave,  of  course ;  there  was  one  satisfaction 
with  him  — he  was  not  likely  to  run  away. 

"  Miss  Baby,  dear,"  I  said,  "  aren't  you  getting 
hungry?  Where's  the  basket  you  were  holding  in 
the  cart?" 

"  Nice  cakes  in  basket,"  said  the  little  girl.  "  Baby 
looked,  but  Baby  didn't  eaten  them." 

The  basket  was  still  in  the  cart,  and  I  think  they 
were  all  very  pleased  when  they  saw  what  I  had 


78  NUKSE    HE  ATHERD  ALE'S    STORY. 

brought  for  them.  Some  of  Mrs.  Brent's  nice  little 
saffron  buns  and  a  bottle  of  milk.  I  remember  that 
I  didn't  like  the  taste  of  the  saffron  buns  at  first,  and 
now  I  might  be  Cornish  born  and  bred,  I  think  it 
such  an  improvement  to  cakes  ! 

"  Another  time,"  I  said,  "  we  might  bring  our  tea 
with  us.  I  dare  say  my  lady  wouldn't  object." 

"I'm  sure  she  wouldn't  mind,"  said  Miss  Bess. 
"  We  used  to  have  picnic  teas  sometimes,  when  our 
quite,  quite  old  nurse  was  with  us  —  the  one  that's 
married  over  to  St.  Iwalds." 

"Bess,"  said  Master  Francis,  uyou  should  say 
'  over  at,'  not  '  over  to.' ': 

"Thank  you,"  said  Miss  Bess,  "I  don't  want  you  to 
teach  me  grammar.  That  isn't  parson's  business." 

Master  Francis  grew  very  red. 

"Did  you  know,  nurse,"  said  Miss  Lally,  "Francie's 
going  to  be  a  clergy-gentleman  ?  " 

They  couldn't  help  laughing  at  her,  and  the  laugh 
brought  back  good  humour. 

"I  want  to  be  one,"  said  Master  Francis,  "but  I'm 
afraid  it  costs  a  great  lot  to  go  to  college." 

Poor  children,  through  all  their  talk  and  plans 
the  one  trouble  seemed  always  to  keep  coming  up. 

"I  fancy  that's  according  a  good  deal  to  how 
young  gentlemen  take  it.  There's  some  that  spend 
a  fortune  at  college,  I've  heard,  but  some  that  are 
very  careful ;  and  I  expect  you'd  be  that  kind,  Master 
Francis." 


THE  SMUGGLERS'  CAVES.  79 

"  Yes,"  he  said,  in  his  grave  way.  "  I  wouldn't 
want  to  cost  Uncle  Hulbert  more  than  I  can  help. 
I  wish  one  could  be  a  clergyman  without  going  to 
college  though." 

"  You've  got  to  go  to  school  first,"  said  Miss  Bess. 
"You  needn't  bother  about  college  for  a  long  time 
yet." 

Miss  Lally  sighed. 

"  I  don't  like  Francie  having  to  go  to  school,"  she 
said.  "  And  the  boys  are  so  rough  there ;  I  hope 
they  won't  hurt  your  poor  leg,  Francie." 

"  It  isn't  that  I  mind,"  said  Master  Francie  —  the 
boy  had  a  fine  spirit  of  his  own  though  he  was  so 
delicate  —  "  what  I  mind  is  the  going  alone  and  being 
so  far  away  from  everybody." 

"  It's  a  pity,"  I  said  without  thinking,  "  but  what 
one  of  you  young  ladies  had  been  a  young  gentleman, 
to  have  been  a  companion  for  Master  Francis,  and  to 
have  gone  to  school  together,  maybe.'7 

"  Oh !  "  said  Miss  Bess  quickly,  "  you  must  never 
say  that  to  mamma,  nurse.  You  don't  know  what  a 
trouble  it  is  to  her  not  to  have  a  boy.  She'd  have 
liked  Lally  to  be  a  boy  most  of  all.  She  wanted  her 
to  be  a  boy ;  she  always  says  so." 

Here  Master  Francis  gave  a  deep  sigh  in  his  turn. 

"  Oh !  how  I  wish,"  he  said,  "  that  I  could  turn 
myself  into  a  girl  and  Lally  into  a  boy.  I  wouldn't 
like  to  be  a  girl  at  all,  and  I  dare  say  Lally  wouldn't 
like  to  be  a  boy.  But  to  please  Aunt  Helen  I'd  do  it." 


80  NUKSE    HE  AT  HERD  ALE'S    STORY. 

"  No,"  said  Miss  Lally,  "  I  don't  think  I  would  — 
not  even  to  please  mamma.  I  couldn't  bear  to  be  a 
boy." 

I  was  rather  sorry  I  had  led  to  this  talk. 

"  Isn't  it  best,"  I  said,  "  to  take  things  as  they  are  ? 
Master  Francis  is  just  like  your  brother  —  the  same 
name  and  everything." 

"  I'd  like  it  that  way,"  said  Master  Francis,  with  a 
pleased  look  in  his  eyes.  But  I  heard  Miss  Bess, 
who  was  walking  close  beside  me,  say  in  a  low  voice, 
"  Mamma  will  never  think  of  it  that  way !  " 

This  talk  made  some  things  clearer  to  me  than 
before,  and  that  evening,  after  the  children  were  in 
bed,  I  went  down  to  the  housekeeper's  room  and 
eased  my  mind  by  telling  her  about  it,  I  felt  so 
afraid  of  having  said  anything  uncalled  for.  But 
Mrs.  Brent  comforted  me. 

"  It's  best  for  you  to  know,"  she  said,  "  that  my 
lady  does  make  a  great  trouble,  too  great  a  trouble, 
to  my  thinking,  of  not  having  a  son.  And  no  doubt 
it  has  to  do  with  her  coldness  to  Master  Francis, 
though  I  doubt  if  she  really  knows  this  herself,  for 
she's  a  lady  that  means  to  do  right  and  justly  to  all 
about  her ;  I  will  say  that  for  her." 

It  was  really  something  to  be  thankful  for  to 
have  such  a  good  and  sensible  woman  to  ask  advice 
from,  for  a  stranger,  as  I  still  was.  The  more  I  knew 
her,  the  more  she  reminded  me  of  my  good  mother. 
Plain  and  homely  in  her  ways,  with  no  love  of 


THE  SMUGGLERS'  CAVES.  81 

gossip  about  her,  yet  not  afraid  to  speak  out  her 
mind  when  she  saw  it  right  to  do  so.  Many  things 
would  have  been  harder  at  Treluan,  the  poor  dear 
children  would  have  had  less  pleasure  in  their  lives, 
but  for  Mrs.  Brent's  kind  thought  for  them.  That 
very  evening  I  had  had  a  reason,  so  to  say,  for 
paying  a  special  visit  to  the  housekeeper's  room; 
for  when  we  had  got  in  from  our  long  walk,  rather 
tired  and  certainly  very  hungry,  a  nice  surprise  was 
waiting  for  us  in  the  nursery.  The  tea-table  was 
already  set  out  most  carefully.  There  was  a  pile  of 
Mrs.  Brent's  hot  scones  and  a  beautiful  dish  of 
strawberries. 

"  Oh,  nurse ! "  cried  Miss  Bess,  who  had  run  on 
first,  "  quick,  quick,  look  what  a  nice  tea.  I'm  sure 
it's  Mrs.  Brent !  Isn't  it  good  of  her  ?  " 

"  It's  like  a  birfday,"  said  Miss  Lally. 

And  Miss  Baby,  who  had  been  grumbling  a  good 
deal  and  crying,  "  I  want  my  tea,"  nearly  jumped  out 
of  my  arms  —  I  had  had  to  carry  her  upstairs  —  at 
the  sight  of  it. 

For  I'm  afraid  there's  no  denying  that  in  those 
days  breakfast,  dinner,  and  tea  filled  a  large  place  in 
Miss  Augusta's  thoughts.  I  hope  she'll  forgive  me 
for  saying  so,  if  she  ever  sees  this. 


CHAPTER   VII. 

A  RAINY  DAY. 

THAT  lovely  weather  lasted  on  for  about  a  fort- 
night without  a  break,  and  many  a  pleasant  ramble 
we  had,  for  though  lessons  began  again,  Miss  Kirstin 
always  left  immediately  after  luncheon,  which  was 
the  children's  dinner,  for  the  three  elder  ones  always 
joined  Sir  Hulbert  and  my  lady  in  the  dining-room. 

Two  afternoons  in  the  week,  as  I  think  I  have 
said,  Master  Francis  and  Miss  Bess  had  Latin  les- 
sons from  Sir  Hulbert.  Miss  Bess,  by  all  accounts, 
did  not  take  very  kindly  to  the  Latin  grammar,  and 
but  for  Master  Francis  helping  her  —  many  a  time 
indeed  sitting  up  after  his  own  lessons  were  done 
to  set  hers  right  —  she  would  often  have  got  into 
trouble  with  her  papa.  For  indulgent  as  he  was, 
Sir  Hulbert  could  be  strict  when  strictness  was 
called  for. 

Miss  Bess  was  a  curious  mixture ;  to  see  her  and 
hear  her  talk  you'd  have  thought  her  twice  as  clever 
as  Miss  Lally,  and  so  in  some  ways  she  was.  But 
when  it  came  to  book  learning,  it  was  a  different 
story.  Teaching  Miss  Lally — and  I  had  something 
to  do  with  her  in  this  way,  for  I  used  to  hear  over  the 

82 


A   RAINY   DAY.  83 

lessons  she  was  getting  ready  for  Miss  Kirstin  —  was 
really  like  running  along  a  smooth  road,  the  child 
was  so  eager  and  attentive,  never  losing  a  word  of 
what  was  said  to  her.  Miss  Bess  used  to  say  that 
her  sister  had  a  splendid  memory  by  nature.  But  in 
my  long  life  I've  watched  and  thought  about  some 
things  a  great  deal,  and  it  seems  to  me  that  a  good 
memory  has  to  do  with  our  own  trying,  more  than 
some  people  would  say,  —  above  all,  with  the  habit 
of  really  giving  attention  to  whatever  you're  doing. 
And  this  habit  Miss  Bess  had  not  been  taught  to 
train  herself  to ;  and  being  a  lively  impulsive  child, 
no  doubt  it  came  a  little  harder  to  her. 

A  dear  child  she  was,  all  the  same.  Looking  back 
upon  those  days,  I  would  find  it  hard  to  say  which 
of  them  all  seemed  nearest  my  heart. 

The  days  of  the  Latin  lessons  we  generally  had  a 
short  walk  in  the  morning,  as  well  as  one  after  tea, 
so  as  to  suit  Sir  Hulbert's  time  in  the  afternoon ;  and 
those  afternoons  were  Miss  Lally's  great  time  for  her 
knitting,  which  she  was  determined  to  keep  a  secret 
till  she  had  made  some  progress  in  it  and  finished 
her  first  pair  of  socks.  How  she  did  work  at  it,  poor 
dear !  Her  little  face  all  puckered  up  with  earnest- 
ness, her  little  hot  hands  grasping  the  needles,  as  if 
she  would  never  let  them  go.  And  she  mastered  it 
really  wonderfully,  considering  she  was  not  yet  six 
years  old ! 

She  had  more  time  for  it  after  a  bit,  for  the  beauti- 


84  NURSE  HEATHERDALE'S  STORY. 

ful  hot  summer  weather  changed,  as  it  often  does, 
about  the  middle  of  July,  and  we  had  two  or  three 
weeks  of  almost  constant  rain.  Thanks  to  her  knit- 
ting, Miss  Lally  took  this  quite  cheerfully,  and  if 
poor  Master  Francis  had  been  left  in  peace,  we 
should  have  had  no  grumbling  from  him  either.  A 
book  and  a  quiet  corner  was  all  he  asked,  and  though 
he  said  nothing  about  it,  I  think  he  was  glad  now 
and  then  of  a  rest  from  the  long  walks  which  my 
lady  thought  the  right  thing,  whenever  the  weather 
was  at  all  fit  for  going  out.  But  dear,  dear !  how 
Miss  Bess  did  tease  and  worry  sometimes !  She  was 
a  strong  child,  and  needed  plenty  of  exercise  to  keep 
her  content. 

I  remember  one  day,  when  things  really  came  to  a 
point  with  her,  and,  strangely  enough,  —  it  is  curious 
on  looking  back  to  see  the  thread,  like  a  road  wind- 
ing along  a  hill,  sometimes  lost  to  view  and  some- 
times clear  again,  unbroken  through  all,  leading 
from  little  things  to  big,  in  a  way  one  could  never 
have  pictured,  —  strangely  enough,  as  I  was  saying, 
the  trifling  events  of  that  very  afternoon  were  the 
beginning  of  much  that  changed  the  whole  life  at 
Treluan. 

It  was  raining  that  afternoon,  not  so  very  heavily, 
but  in  a  steady  hopeless  way,  rather  depressing  to  the 
spirits,  I  must  allow.  It  was  not  a  Latin  day  —  I 
think  some  of  us  wished  it  had  been !. 

"  Now,    Bess  !  "    said    Master   Francis,   when   the 


A  KAINY   DAY.  85 

three  children  came  up  from  their  dinner,  "before 
we  do  anything  else"  —  there  had  been  a  talk  of 
a  game  of  "  hide-and-seek,"  or  u  I  spy,"  to  cheer  them 
up  a  bit  —  "  before  we  do  anything  else,  let's  get  our 
Latin  done,  or  part  of  it,  anyway,  as  long  as  we 
remember  what  uncle  corrected  yesterday,  and  then 
we'll  feel  comfortable  for  the  afternoon." 

"Very  well,"  said  Miss  Bess,  though  her  voice 
was  not  very  encouraging. 

She  was  standing  by  the  window,  staring  out  at 
the  close-falling  rain,  and  as  she  spoke  she  moved 
slowly  towards  the  table,  where  Master  Francis  was 
already  spreading  out  the  books. 

"I  don't  think  it's  a  good  plan  to  begin  lessons 
the  very  moment  we've  finished  our  dinner,"  she 
added. 

"  It  isn't  the  very  minute  after,"  put  in  Miss  Lally, 
not  very  wisely.  "  You  forget,  Queen,  we  went  into 
the  'servatory  with  mamma,  while  she  cut  some 
flowers,  for  ever  so  long." 

Being  put  in  the  wrong  didn't  sweeten  Miss 
Bess's  temper. 

"  'Servatory — you  baby  !  "  said  she.  "  Nurse,  can't 
you  teach  Lally  to  spell  4  Constantinople '  ?  " 

Miss  Lally's  face  puckered  up,  and  she  came  close 
to  me. 

"  Nursie,"  she  whispered,  "  may  I  go  into  the  other 
room  with  my  knitting ;  I'm  sure  Queen  is  going  to 
tease  me." 


86  NURSE  HEATHERDALE'S  STORY. 

I  nodded  my  head.  I  used  to  give  her  leave 
sometimes  to  go  into  the  night  nursery  by  herself, 
when  she  was  likely  to  be  disturbed  at  her  work,  and 
that  generally  by  Miss  Bess.  For  though  Master 
Francis  couldn't  have  but  seen  she  had  some  secret 
from  him,  he  was  far  too  kind  and  sensible  to  seem 
to  notice  it.  Whereas  Miss  Bess,  who  had  been 
taken  into  her  confidence,  never  got  into  a  contrary 
humour  without  teasing  the  poor  child  by  hints 
about  stockings,  or  wool,  or  something.  And  the 
contrary  humour  was  on  her  this  afternoon,  I  saw 
well. 

"  Now,  Bess,  begin,  do ! "  said  Master  Francis. 
"  These  are  the  words  we  have  to  copy  out  and  learn. 
I'll  read  them  over,  and  then  we  can  write  them  out 
and  hear  each  other." 

He  did  as  he  said,  but  it  was  precious  little 
attention  he  got  from  his  cousin,  though  it  was  some 
time  before  he  found  it  out.  Looking  up,  he  saw 
that  she  had  dressed  up  one  hand  in  her  handkerchief, 
like  an  old  man  in  a  nightcap,  and  at  every  word 
poor  Master  Francis  said,  made  him  gravely  bow. 
It  was  all  I  could  do  to  keep  from  laughing,  though 
I  pretended  not  to  see. 

"  O  Bess  ! "  said  the  boy  reproachfully,  "  I  don't 
believe  you've  been  listening  a  bit." 

"  Well,  never  mind  if  I  haven't.  I'd  forget  it  all 
by  to-morrow  morning  anyway.  Show  me  the  words, 
and  I'll  write  them  out." 


A   RAINY   DAY.  87 

She  leant  across  him  to  get  *the  book,  and  in  so 
doing  upset  the  ink.  The  bottle  was  not  very  full, 
so  not  much  damage  would  have  been  done  if  Master 
Francis's  exercise-book  had  not  been  lying  open  just 
in  the  way. 

"  Oh  !  Bess,"  he  cried  in  great  distress.  "  Just 
look.  It  was  such  a  long  exercise  and  I  had  copied 
it  out  so  neatly,  and  you  know  uncle  hates  blots  and 
untidiness." 

Miss  Bess  looked  very  sorry. 

"  I'll  tell  papa  it  was  my  fault,"  she  said.  But 
Master  Francis  shook  his  head. 

"  I  must  copy  it  out  again,"  I  heard  him  say  in  a 
low  voice,  with  a  sigh,  as  he  pushed  it  away  and 
gave  his  attention  to  his  cousin  and  the  words  she 
had  to  learn. 

She  was  quieter  after  that,  for  a  while,  and  in 
half  an  hour  or  so  Master  Francis  let  her  go.  He 
set  to  work  at  his  unlucky  exercise  again,  and  seeing 
this,  should  really  have  sobered  Miss  Bess.  But  she 
was  in  a  queer  humour  that  afternoon,  it  only  seemed 
to  make  her  more  fidgety. 

"You  really  needn't  do  it,"  she  said  to  Master 
Francis  crossly.  "  I  told  you  I'd  explain  it  to  papa." 
But  the  boy  shook  his  head.  He'd  have  taken  any 
amount  of  trouble  rather  than  risk  vexing  his  uncle. 

"  It  was  partly  my  own  fault  for  leaving  it  about," 
he  said  gently,  which  only  seemed  to  provoke  Miss 
Bess  more. 


88  NURSE  HEATHERDALE'S  STORY. 

"  You  do  so  like  to  make  yourself  a  martyr.  It's 
quite  true  what  mamma  says,"  she  added  in  a  lower 
voice,  which  I  did  think  unkind. 

But  in  some  humours  children  are  best  left  alone 
for  the  time,  so  I  took  no  notice. 

Miss  Bess  returned  to  her  former  place  in  the 
window.  Miss  Baby  was  contentedly  setting  out  her 
doll's  tea-things  on  the  rug  in  front  of  the  fire,  —  at 
Treluan  even  in  the  summer  one  needs  a  little  fire 
when  there  comes  a  spell  of  rainy  weather.  Miss 
Bess  glanced  at  her,  but  didn't  seem  to  think  she'd 
find  any  amusement  there.  Miss  Baby  was  too 
young  to  be  fair  game  for  teasing. 

"  What's  Lally  doing  ?  "  she  said  suddenly,  turning 
to  me.  "  Has  she  hidden  herself  as  usual  ?  I  hate 
secrets.  They  make  people  so  tiresome.  I'll  just 
go  and  tell  her  she'd  better  come  in  here." 

She  turned,  as  she  spoke,  to  the  night  nursery. 

"  Now,  Miss  Bess,  my  dear,"  I  couldn't  help  saying, 
"  do  not  tease  the  poor  child.  I'll  tell  you  what  you 
might  do.  Get  one  of  your  pretty  books  and  read 
aloud  a  nice  story  to  Miss  Lally  in  the  other  room, 
till  Master  Francis  is  ready  for  a  game." 

"I've  read  all  our  books  hundreds  of  times.  I'll 
tell  her  a  story  instead ! "  she  replied. 

"  That  would  be  very  nice,"  I  could  not  but  say, 
though  something  in  her  way  of  speaking  made  me 
feel  a  little  doubtful,  as  Miss  Bess  opened  the  night 
nursery  door  and  closed  it  behind  her  carefully. 


A    RAINY   DAY.  89 

For  a  few  minutes  we  were  at  peace.  No  sound  to 
be  heard,  except  the  scratching  of  Master  Francis's 
busy  pen  and  Miss  Augusta's  pressing  invitations  to 
the  dollies  to  have  —  "  thome  more  tea  "  —  or —  "a  bit 
of  this  bootif  ul  cake,"  and  I  began  to  hope  that  in  her 
quiet  way  Miss  Lally  had  smoothed  down  her  elder 
sister,  when  suddenly  —  dear,  dear !  my  heart  did  leap 
into  my  mouth  —  there  came  from  the  next  room  the 
most  terrible  screams  and  roars  that  ever  I  have 
heard  all  the  long  years  I  have  been  in  the  nursery ! 

"  Goodness  gracious !  "  I  cried,  "  what  can  be  the 
matter.  There's  no  fire  in  there ! "  and  I  rushed 
towards  the  door. 

To  my  surprise  Master  Francis  and  Miss  Baby 
remained  quite  composed. 

"It's  only  Lally,"  said  the  boy.  "  She  does  scream 
like  that  sometimes,  though  she  hasn't  done  it  for  a 
good  while  now.  I  dare  say  it's  only  Bess  pulling 
her  hair  a  little." 

It  was  not  even  that.     When  I  opened  the  door, 
Miss  Bess,  who  was  standing  by  her    sister  —  Miss 
Lally  still   roaring,  though   not    quite  so  loudly  - 
looked  up  quietly. 

"I've  been  telling  her  stories,  nurse,"  she  said. 
"  But  she  doesn't  like  them  at  all." 

Miss  Lally  ran  to  me  sobbing.  I  couldn't  but 
feel  sorry  for  her,  as  she  clung  to  me,  and  yet  I  was 
provoked,  thinking  it  really  too  bad  to  have  had 
such  a  fright  for  nothing  at  all. 


90  NURSE  HEATHERDALE'S  STORY. 

"  Queen  has  been  telling  me  such  Jiowid  things," 
she  said  among  her  tears,  as  she  calmed  down  a  little. 
"  She  said  it  was  going  to  be  such  a  pretty  story  and 
it  was  all  about  a  little  girl,  who  wasn't  a  little  girl, 
weally.  They  tied  her  sleeves  with  green  ribbons, 
afore  she  was  christened,  and  so  the  naughty  fairies 
stealed  her  away  and  left  a  howid  squealing  pertence 
little  girl  instead.  And  it  was  just,  just  like  me,  and, 
Queen  says,  they  did  tie  me  in  green  ribbons.  She 
knows  they  did,  she  can  'amember ; "  and  here  her 
cries  began  again.  "  And  Queen  says  p'raps  I'll 
never  come  right  again,  and  I  can't  bear  to  be  a 
pertence  little  girl.  Queen  told  it  me  once  before, 
but  I'd  forgot,  and  now  it's  all  come  back." 

She  buried  her  face  on  my  shoulder.  I  had  sat 
down  and  taken  her  on  my  knees,  and  I  could  feel 
her  all  shaking  and  quivering,  though  through  it  all 
she  still  clutched  her  knitting  and  the  four  needles. 

"  Miss  Bess,"  I  said,  in  a  voice  I  don't  think  I  had 
yet  used  since  I  had  been  with  them,  "I  am  sur- 
prised at  you !  Come  away  with  me,  my  dear,"  I 
said  to  Miss  Lally.  "  Come  into  the  other  room. 
Miss  Bess  will  stay  here  till  such  time  as  she  can 
promise  to  behave  better,  both  to  you  and  Master 
Francis." 

Miss  Bess  had  turned  away  when  I  began  to 
speak,  and  I  think  she  had  felt  ashamed.  But  my 
word  about  Master  Francis  had  been  a  mistake. 

"  You  needn't  scold  me  about  spilling  the  ink  on 


A   RAINY  DAY.  91 

Francis's  book !  "  she  said  angrily.  "  You  know  that 
was  an  accident." 

"  There's  accidents  and  accidents,"  I  replied,  which 
I  know  wasn't  wise ;  but  the  child  had  tried  my 
temper  too,  I  won't  deny. 

I  took  Miss  Lally  into  a  corner  of  the  day  nursery 
and  talked  to  her  in  a  low  voice,  not  to  disturb  Mas- 
ter Francis,  who  was  still  busy  writing. 

"  My  dear,"  I  said,  "  so  far  as  I  can  put  a  stop  to 
it,  I  won't  have  Miss  Bess  teasing  you,  but  all  the 
same  I  can't  have  you  screaming  in  that  terrible 
way  for  really  nothing  at  all.  Your  own  sense 
might  tell  you  that  there's  no  such  things  as  fairies 
changing  babies  in  that  way.  Miss  Bess  only  said  it 
to  tease." 

She  was  still  sobbing,  but  all  the  same  she  had 
not  forgotten  to  wrap  up  her  precious  knitting  in  her 
little  apron,  so  that  her  cousin  shouldn't  catch  sight 
of  it,  and  her  heart  was  already  softening  to  her 
sister. 

"  Queen  didn't  mean  to  make  me  cry,"  she  said. 
"  But  I  can't  bear  that  story  ;  nobody  would  love  me 
if  I  was  only  a  pertence  little  girl." 

"  But  you're  not  that,  my  dear ;  you're  a  very 
real  little  girl,"  I  said.  "You're  your  papa's  and 
mamma's  dear  little  daughter  and  God's  own  child. 
That's  what  your  christening  meant." 

Miss  Lally's  sobs  stopped. 

"  I  forgot  about  that,"  she  said  very  gravely,  seem- 


92  NURSE  HEATHERDALE'S  STORY. 

ing  to  find  great  comfort  in  the  thought.  "If  I  had 
been  a  pertence  little  girl,  I  couldn't  have  been  took 
to  church  like  Baby  was.  Could  I  ?  And  I  know  I 
was,  for  I  have  got  godfather  and  godmother  and  a 
silver  mug  wif  my  name  on." 

"  And  better  things  than  that,  thank  God,  as  you'll 
soon  begin  to  understand,  my  dear  Miss  Lally,"  I 
answered,  as  she  held  up  her  little  face  to  be  kissed. 

"May  I  go  back  to  Queen  now?"  she  asked,  but  I 
don't  think  she  was  altogether  sorry  when  I  shook 
my  head. 

"  Not  just  yet,  my  dear,  I  think,"  I  replied. 

"  Only  where  am  I  to  do  my  knitting  ? "  she 
whispered.  "  I  can't  do  it  here ;  Francie  would  be 
sure  to  see,"  and  the  corners  of  her  mouth  began  to 
go  down  again.  "  Oh !  I  know,"  she  went  on  in 
another  moment,  brightening  up.  "  I  could  work  so 
nicely  in  the  attic,  there's  a  little  seat  in  the  corner, 
by  the  window,  where  Francie  and  I  used  to  go 
sometimes  when  Sharp  told  us  to  get  out  of  the  way." 

"  Wouldn't  you  be  cold,  my  dear,"  I  said  doubt- 
fully. But  I  was  anxious  to  please  her,  so  I  fetched 
a  little  shawl  for  her  and  we  went  up  together  to 
the  attic. 

It  did  not  feel  chilly,  and  the  corner  by  the  win- 
dow —  the  kind  they  call  a  "  storm  window,"  with  a 
sort  of  little  separate  roof  of  its  own  —  was  very 
cosy.  You  have  a  peep  of  the  sea  from  that  window 
too. 


A   RAINY  DAY.  98 

"  Isn't  it  a  good  plan  ?  "  said  Miss  Lally  joyfully. 
"  I  can  knit  here  so  nicely,  and  I  have  been  getting 
on  so  well  this  afternoon.  There's  no  stitches 
dropped,  not  one,  nursie.  Mightn't  I  come  here 
every  day  ?  " 

"  We'll  see,  my  dear,"  I  said,  thinking  to  myself 
that  it  might  really  be  good  for  her  —  being  a  ner- 
vous child,  and  excitable  too,  for  all  she  seemed  so 
quiet  —  to  be  at  peace  and  undisturbed  now  and  then 
by  herself.  "  We'll  see,  only  you  must  come  down- 
stairs at  once  if  you  feel  cold  or  chilly." 

I  looked  round  me  as  I  was  leaving  the  attic. 
There  was  a  big  cupboard,  or  closet  rather,  at  the 
end  near  the  door.  Miss  Lally's  window  was  at  this 
end  too.  The  closet  door  stood  half  open,  but  it 
seemed  empty. 

"That's  where  we  wait  when  we're  playing  'I 
spy'  up  here,"  said  Miss  Lally.  "Mouses  live  in 
that  cupboard.  We've  seen  them  running  out  of 
their  holes;  but  I  like  mouses,  they've  such  dear 
bright  eyes  and  long  tails." 

I  can't  say  that  I  agreed  with  Miss  Lally's  tastes. 
Mice  are  creatures  I've  never  been  able  to  take  to, 
still  they'd  do  her  no  harm,  that  was  certain,  so 
seeing  her  quite  happy  at  her  work  I  went  down 
to  the  nursery  again. 


CHAPTER   VIII. 

THE   OLD  LATIN   GRAMMAR. 

MASTER  FRANCIS  was  still  writing  busily  when  I 
went  back  to  the  nursery.  He  looked  pale  and  tired, 
and  once  or  twice  I  heard  him  sigh.  I  knew  it  was 
not  good  for  him  to  be  stooping  so  long  over  his 
lessons,  especially  as  the  children  had  not  been  out 
all  that  day. 

"  Really,"  I  said,  half  to  myself,  but  his  ears  were 
quick  and  he  heard  me,  "  Miss  Bess  has  done  noth- 
ing but  mischief  this  afternoon.  I  feel  sometimes  as 
if  I  couldn't  manage  her." 

The  boy  looked  up  quickly. 

"  O  nurse  !  "  he  said,  "  please  don't  speak  like  that. 
I  mean  I  wouldn't  for  anything  have  uncle  or  auntie 
think  I  had  put  her  out,  or  that  there  had  been  any 
trouble.  It  just  comes  over  her  sometimes  like  that, 
and  she's  very  sorry  afterwards.  I  suppose  Lally 
and  I  haven't  spirits  enough  for  her,  she  is  so  clever 
and  bright,  and  it  must  be  dull  for  her,  now  and 
then." 

"  I'm  sure,  Master  Francis,  my  dear,"  I  said,  "  no 
one  could  be  kinder  and  nicer  with  Miss  Bess  than 
you;  and  as  for  cleverness,  she  may  be  quick  and 

94 


THE   OLD   LATIN   GRAMMAR.  95 

bright,  but  I'd  like  to  know  where  she'd  be  for  her 
lessons  but  for  you  helping  her  many  a  time." 

I  was  still  feeling  a  bit  provoked  with  Miss  Bess, 
I  must  allow. 

"  I'm  nearly  three  years  older,  you  know,"  replied 
Master  Francis,  though  all  the  same  I  could  see  a 
pleased  look  on  his  face.  It  wasn't  that  he  cared  for 
praise  — boy  or  man,  I  have  never  in  my  life  known 
any  human  being  so  out  and  out  humble  as  Mr. 
Francis;  it's  that  that  gives  him  his  wonderful 
power  over  others,  I've  often  thought,  —  but  he  did 
love  to  think  he  was  of  the  least  use  to  any  of  those 
he  was  so  devoted  to. 

"  I'm  so  glad  to  help  her,"  he  said  softly.  "Nurse," 
he  added  after  a  little  silence,  "  I  do  feel  So  sad  about 
things  sometimes.  If  I  had  been  big  and  strong,  I 
might  have  looked  forward  to  doing  all  sorts  of 
things  for  them  all,  but  now  I  often  feel  I  can  never 
be  anything  but  a  trouble,  and  such  an  expense  to 
uncle  and  aunt.  You  really  don't  know  what  my 
leg  costs,"  he  added  in  a  way  that  made  me  inclined 
both  to  laugh  and  cry  at  once. 

"Dear  Master  Francis,"  I  said,  "you  shouldn't 
take  it  so."  I  should  have  liked  to  say  more,  but  I 
felt  I  could  scarcely  do  so  without  hinting  at  blame 
where  I  had  no  right  to  do  so. 

He  didn't  seem  to  notice  me. 

"If  it  had  to  be,"  he  went  on  in  the  same  voice, 
"  why  couldn't  I  have  been  a  girl,  or  why  couldn't 


96  NURSE  HEATHERDALE'S  STORY. 

x 

one  of  them  have  been  a  boy?  That  would  have 
stopped  it  being  quite  so  bad  for  poor  auntie." 

"Whys  and  wherefores  are  not  for  us  to  answer, 
my  dear,  though  things  often  clear  themselves  up 
when  least  expected,"  I  said.  "  And  now  I  must  see 
what  Miss  Bess  is  after,  that's  to  say  if  you've  got 
your  writing  finished." 

"  It's  just  about  done,"  he  said,  "  and  I'm  sure  Bess 
won't  tease  any  more.  Do  fetch  her  in,  nurse.  Why, 
Baby!  what  is  it,  my  pet?"  he  added,  for  there  was 
Miss  Augusta  standing  beside  him,  having  deserted 
her  toys  on  the  hearthrug.  For,  though  without  un- 
derstanding anything  we  had  been  saying,  she  had 
noticed  the  melancholy  tone  of  her  cousin's  voice. 

44  Poor  F'ancie,"  she  said  pitifully.  "  So  tired, 
Baby  wants  to  kiss  thoo." 

The  boy  picked  her  up  in  his  arms,  and  I  saw  the 
fair  shaggy  head  and  fat  dimpled  cheeks  clasped 
close  and  near  to  his  thin  white  face,  and  if  there 
were  tears  in  Master  Francis's  eyes  I  am  sure  it 
wasn't  anything  to  be  ashamed  of.  Never  was 
a  braver  spirit,  and  no  one  that  knows  him  now 
could  think  him  less  a  hero  could  they  look  back 
over  the  whole  of  his  life. 

I  found  Miss  Bess  sitting  quietly  with  the  pin- 
cushion on  her  lap,  by  the  window,  making  patterns 
with  the  pins,  apparently  quite  content.  She  had 
not  been  crying,  indeed  it  took  a  great  deal  to  get 
a  tear  from  that  child,  she  had  such  a  spirit  of  her 


;  POOR  F'ANCIE,"   SHE   SAID  PITIFULLY.     "  So  TlUliJJ,  BABY  WANTS  TO  KISS 
THOO."  —  p.  96. 


THE   OLD   LATIN   GRAMMAR.  97 

own.  Still  she  was  sorry  for  what  she  had  done, 
and  she  bore  no  malice,  that  I  could  see  by  the  clear 
look  in  her  pretty  eyes  as  she  glanced  up  at  me. 

"Nurse,"  she  said,  though  more  with  the  air  of 
a  little  queen  granting  a  favour  than  a  tiresome 
child  asking  to  be  forgiven,  "  I'm  not  going  to  tease 
any  more.  It's  gone  now,  and  I'm  going  to  be  good. 
I'm  very  sorry  for  making  Lally  cry,  though  she 
is  a  little  silly  —  of  course  I  wouldn't  care  to  do 
it  if  she  wasn't,  —  and  I'm  dreadfully  sorry  for  poor 
old  Franz's  exercise.  Look  what  I  have  been  doing 
to  make  me  remember,"  and  I  saw  that  she  had 
marked  the  words  "Bess  sorry  "  with  the  pins.  "If 
you  leave  it  there  for  a  few  days,  and  just  say 
4  pincushion '  if  you  see  me  beginning  again,  it'll 
remind  me." 

It  wasn't  very  easy  for  me  to  keep  as  grave  as  I 
wished,  but  I  answered  quietly  — 

"  Very  well,  Miss  Bess,  I  hope  you'll  keep  to  what 
you  say,"  and  we  went  back,  quite  friendly  again, 
to  the  other  room. 

Master  Francis  and  she  began  settling  what  games 
they  would  play,  and  I  took  the  opportunity  of 
slipping  upstairs  to  the  attic  to  call  Miss  Lally 
down.  She  came  running  out,  as  bright  as  could 
be,  and  gave  me  her  knitting  to  hide  away  for  her. 

"Nursie,"  she  said,  "I  really  think  there's  good 
fairies  in  the  attic.  I've  got  on  so  well.  Four 
whole  rows  all  round  and  none  stitches  dropped." 


98  NUKSE  HEATHEKDALE'S  STORY. 

So  that  rainy  day  ended  more  cheerfully  than  it 
had  begun. 

Unluckily,  however,  the  worst  of  the  mischief 
caused  by  Miss  Bess's  heedlessness  didn't  show  for 
some  little  time  to  come.  The  next  Latin  lesson 
passed  off  by  all  accounts  very  well,  especially  for 
Miss  Bess.  For,  thanks  to  her  new  resolutions,  she 
was  in  a  most  biddable  mood,  and  quite  ready  to 
take  her  cousin's  advice  as  to  learning  her  list  of 
words  again,  giving  up  half  an  hour  of  her  playtime 
on  purpose. 

She  came  dancing  upstairs  in  the  highest  spirits. 

"  Nursie,"  she  said,  —  and  when  she  called  me  so 
I  knew  I  was  in  high  favour,  —  "I'm  getting  so 
good,  I'm  quite  frightened  at  myself.  Papa  said  I 
had  never  known  my  lessons  so  well." 

"  I  am  very  glad,  I  am  sure,  my  love ;  and  I 
hope,"  I  couldn't  help  adding,  "  that  Master  Francis 
got  some  of  the  praise  of  it." 

For  Master  Francis  was  following  her  into  the 
room,  looking  not  quite  so  joyful.  Miss  Bess  seemed 
a  little  taken  aback. 

"  Do  you  know,"  she  said,  "  I  never  thought  of 
it.  I  was  so  pleased  at  being  praised."  And  as  the 
child  was  honesty  itself,  I  was  certain  it  was  just 
as  she  said. 

"  I'll  run  down  now,"  she  went  on,  "  and  tell  papa 
that  it  was  Franz  who  helped  me." 

"  No,  please    don't,"  said   the  boy,  catching   hold 


THE   OLD   LATIN    GRAMMAR.  99 

of  her.  "  I  am  as  pleased  as  I  can  be,  Bess,  that 
you  got  praised,  and  it's  harder  for  you  than  for  me, 
or  even  for  Lally,  to  try  hard  at  lessons,  for  you've 
always  got  such  a  lot  of  other  things  taking  you 
up;  and  I  wouldn't  like,"  he  added  slowly,  "for 
uncle  to  think  I  wanted  to  be  praised.  You  see 
I'm  older  than  you." 

"I'm  sure  you  don't  get  too  much  praise  ever, 
poor  Franz  !  "  said  Miss  Bess.  "  Your  exercise  was 
as  neat  as  neat,  and  yet  papa  wasn't  pleased  with  it." 

Then  I  understood  better  why  Master  Francis 
looked  a  little  sad. 

"  It  was  the  one  I  had  to  copy  over,"  he  said. 

All  the  same  he  wouldn't  let  Miss  Bess  go  down 
to  her  papa.  Sir  Hulbert  was  busy,  he  knew ;  he 
had  several  letters  to  write,  he  had  heard  him  say, 
so  Miss  Bess  had  to  give  in. 

"  I'll  tell  you  what  it  is,"  she  said.  "  People  who 
are  generally  rather  naughty,  like  me,"  —  Miss  Bess 
was  in  a  humble  mood! — "get  made  a  great  fuss 
about  when  they're  good.  But  people  who  are 
always  good,  like  Franz,  never  get  any  praise  for 
it,  and  if  ever  they  do  the  least  bit  wrong,  they  are 
far  worse  scolded." 

This  made  Master  Francis  laugh.  It  was  some- 
thing, as  Miss  Bess  said,  among  the  children  them- 
selves. Miss  Lally,  who  was  always  loving  and 
gentle  to  her  cousin,  he  just  counted  upon  in  a  quiet 
steady  sort  of  way.  But  a  word  of  approval  from 


100  NURSE  HEATHERDALE'S  STORY. 

flighty  Miss  Bess  would  set  him  up  as  if  she'd  been 
the  Queen  herself. 

That  was  a  Friday.  The  next  Latin  day  was 
Tuesday.  Of  course  I  don't  know  much  about  such 
things  myself,  but  the  lessons  were  taken  in  turns. 
One  day  they'd  words  and  writing  exercises  out  of  a 
book  on  purpose,  and  another  day  they'd  have  regu- 
lar Latin  grammar,  out  of  a  thick  old  book,  which 
had  been  Sir  Hulbert's  own  when  he  was  a  boy,  and 
which  he  thought  a  great  deal  of.  Lesson-books  were 
still  expensive  too,  and  even  in  small  things  money 
was  considered  at  Treluan.  It  was  on  that  Tuesday 
then  that,  to  my  distress,  I  saw  that  Master  Francis 
had  been  crying  when  he  came  back  to  the  nursery. 
It  was  the  first  time  I  had  seen  his  eyes  red,  and  he 
had  been  trying  to  make  them  right  again,  I'm  sure, 
for  he  hadn't  come  straight  up  from  the  library. 
Miss  Bess  was  not  with  him ;  it  was  a  fine  day  and 
she  had  gone  out  driving  with  her  mamma,  having 
been  dressed  all  ready  and  her  lessons  shortened  for 
once  on  purpose. 

I  didn't  seem  to  notice  Master  Francis,  sorry  though 
I  felt,  but  Miss  Lally  burst  out  at  once. 

44  Francie,  darling,"  she  said,  running  up  to  him  and 
throwing  her  arms  round  him.  "  What's  the  matter  ? 
It  isn't  your  leg,  is  it?" 

44 1  wouldn't  mind  that,  you  know,  Lally,"  he  said. 

44  But  sometimes,  when  the  pain's  been  dreadful 
bad,  it  squeezes  the  tears  out,  and  you  can't  help  it," 
she  said. 


THE   OLD   LATIN   GRAMMAR.  101 

"  No,"  he  answered,  "  it  isn't  my  leg.  I  think  I'd 
better  not  tell  you,  Lally,  for  you  might  tell  it  to 
Bess,  and  I  just  won't  have  her  know.  Everything's 
been  so  nice  with  her  lately,  and  it  just  would  seem 
as  if  I'd  got  her  into  trouble." 

"  Was  papa  vexed  with  you  for  something  ?  "  the 
child  went  on.  "  You'd  better  tell  me,  Francie,  I 
really  won't  tell  Bess  if  you  don't  want  me,  and  I'm 
sure  nursie  won't.  I'm  becustomed  to  keeping  se- 
crets now.  Sometimes  secrets  are  quite  right,  nursie 
says." 

I  could  scarcely  help  smiling  at  her  funny  little  air. 

"It  wasn't  anything  very  much,  after  all,"  said 
Master  Francis.  "It  was  only  that  uncle  said  — " 
and  here  his  voice  quivered  and  he  stopped  short. 

"  Tell  it  from  the  beginning,"  said  Miss  Lally  in 
her  motherly  way,  "  and  then  when  you  get  up  to  the 
bad  part  it  won't  seem  so  hard  to  tell." 

It  was  a  relief  to  him  to  have  her  sympathy,  I 
could  see,  and  I  think  he  cared  a  little  for  mine 
too. 

"  Well,"  he  began,  "  it's  all  about  that  Latin  gram- 
mar—  no,  not  the  lesson,"  seeing  that  Miss  Lally 
was  going  to  interrupt  him,  "  but  the  book.  Uncle's 
fat  old  Latin  grammar,  you  know,  Lally.  We  didn't 
use  it  last  Friday,  it  wasn't  the  day,  and  we  hadn't 
needed  to  look  at  it  ourselves  since  last  Wednesday 
—  that  was  the  ink-spilling  day.  So  it  was  not  found 
out  till  to-day ;  and  —  and  uncle  was  —  so  —  so  vexed 


102  NURSE  HEATHERDALE'S  STORY. 

when  he  saw  how  spoilt  it  was,  and  the  worst  of  it 
was  I  began  something  about  it  having  been  Bess, 
and  that  she  hadn't  told  me,  and  that  made  uncle 
much  worse  — "  Here  Master  Francis  stopped,  he 
seemed  on  the  point  of  crying  again,  and  he  was  a 
boy  to  feel  very  ashamed  of  tears,  as  I  have  said. 

"I  don't  think  Miss  Bess  could  have  known  the 
book  had  got  inked,"  I  said.  "  And  I  scarce  see  how 
it  happened,  unless  the  ink  got  spilt  on  the  tableT  and 
it  may  have  been  lying  open  —  I've  seen  Miss  Bess 
fling  her  books  down  open  on  their  faces,  so  to  speak, 
many  a  time,  —  and  it  may  have  dried  in  and  been 
shut  up  when  all  the  books  were  cleared  away,  and 
no  one  noticed." 

"  Yes,"  said  Master  Francis  eagerly,  "  that's  how  it 
must  have  been.  I  never  meant  that  Bess  had  done 
it  and  hidden  it.  I  said  it  in  a  hurry  because  I  was 
so  sorry  for  uncle  to  think  I  hadn't  taken  care  of  his 
•book,  and  I  was  very  sorry  about  the  book  too.  But 
I  made  it  far  worse.  Uncle  said  it  was  mean  of  me 
to  try  to  put  my  carelessness  upon  another,  a  younger 
child,  and  a  girl ;  O  Lally  !  you  never  heard  him 
speak  like  that ;  it  was  dreadful" 

"  Was  it  worse  than  that  time  when  big  Jem  put 
the  blame  on  little  Pat  about  the  dogs  not  being 
fed  ?  "  asked  Miss  Lally  very  solemnly. 

Master  Francis  flushed  all  over. 

"  You  needn't  have  said  that,  Lally,"  he  said  turn- 
ing away.  "  I'm  not  so  bad  as  that,  anyway." 


THE   OLD   LATIN    GRAMMAR. 

It  was  very  seldom  he  spoke  in  that  voice  to  Miss 
Lally,  and  she  hadn't  meant  to  vex  him,  poor  child, 
though  her  speech  had  been  a  mistake. 

"Come,  come,  Master  Francis,''  I  said,  "you're 
taking  the  whole  thing  too  much  to  heart,  I  think. 
Perhaps  Sir  Hulbert  was  worried  this  morning." 

"No,  no,"  said  Master  Francis,  "he  spoke  quite 
quietly.  A  sort  of  cold,  kind  way,  that's  much 
worse  than  scolding.  He  said  whatever  Bess's  faults 
were,  she  was  quite,  quite  open  and  honest,  and  of 
course  I  know  she  is ;  but  he  said  that  this  sort  of 
thing  made  him  a  little  afraid  that  my  being  delicate 
and  not  —  not  like  other  boys,  was  spoiling  me,  and 
that  I  must  never  try  to  make  up  for  not  being  strong 
and  manly  by  getting  into  mean  and  cunning  ways  to 
defend  myself." 

Young  as  she  was,  Miss  Lally  quite  understood; 
she  quite  forgot  all  about  his  having  been  vexed  with 
her  a  moment  before. 

"  O  Francie !  "  she  cried,  running  to  him  and  fling- 
ing her  arms  round  him,  in  a  way  she  sometimes 
did,  as  if  he  needed  her  protection ;  "  how  could 
papa  say  so  to  you  ?  Nobody  could  think  you  mean 
or  cunning.  It's  only  that  you're  too  good.  I'll  tell 
Bess  as  soon  as  she  comes  in,  and  she'll  tell  papa  all 
about  it,  then  he'll  see." 

"  No,  dear,"  said  Master  Francis,  "  that's  just  what 
you  mustn't  do.  Don't  you  remember  you  promised  ?  " 

Miss  Lally 's  face  fell. 


104  NURSE  HEATHERDALE'S  STORY. 

"  Don't  you  see,"  Master  Francis  went  on,  "  that 
would  look  mean  ?  As  if  I  had  made  Bess  tell  on 
herself  to  put  the  blame  off  me.  And  I  do  want 
everything  to  be  happy  with  Bess  and  me  ourselves 
as  long  as  I  am  here.  It  won't  be  for  so  very  long," 
he  added.  "  Uncle  says  it  will  be  a  very  good  thing 
indeed  for  me  to  go  to  school." 

This  was  too  much  for  Miss  Lally,  she  burst  out 
crying,  and  hugged  Master  Francis  tighter  than 
before.  I  had  got  to  understand  more  of  her  ways 
by  now,  and  I  knew  that  once  she  was  started  on  a 
regular  sobbing  fit,  it  soon  got  beyond  her  own  power 
to  stop.  So  I  whispered  to  Master  Francis  that  he 
must  help  to  cheer  her  up,  and  between  us  we 
managed  to  calm  her  down.  That  was  just  one  of 
the  things  so  nice  about  the  dear  boy,  he  was  always 
ready  to  forget  about  himself  if  there  was  anything 
to  do  for  another. 

Miss  Bess  came  back  from  her  drive  brimming 
over  with  spirits,  and  though  it  would  have  been 
wrong  to  bear  her  any  grudge,  it  vexed  me  rather  to 
see  the  other  two  so  pale  and  extra  quiet,  though 
Master  Francis  did  his  best,  I  will  say,  to  seem  as 
cheerful  as  usual. 

Miss  Bess's  quick  eyes  soon  saw  there  had  been 
something  amiss.  But  I  passed  it  off  by  saying  Miss 
Lally  had  been  troubled  about  something,  but  we 
weren't  going  to  think  about  it  any  more. 

Think  about  it  I  did,  however,  so  far  as  it  con- 


THE  OLD   LATIN   GRAMMAR.  105 

cerned  Master  Francis,  especially.  Till  now  I  had 
been  always  pleased  to  see  that  his  uncle  was  really 
much  attached  to  the  boy,  and  ready  to  do  him 
justice.  But  this  notion,  which  seemed  to  have 
begun  in  Sir  Hulbert's  mind,  that  just  because  the 
poor  child  was  delicate  and  in  a  sense  infirm,  he 
must  be  mean  spirited  and  unmanly  in  mind,  seemed 
to  me  a  very  sad  one,  and  likely  to  bring  much  un- 
happiness.  Nor  could  I  feel  sure  that  my  lady  was 
not  to  blame  for  it.  She  was  frank  and  generous 
herself,  but  inclined  to  take  up  prejudices,  and  not 
always  careful  enough  in  her  way  of  speaking  of 
those  she  had  any  feeling  against. 

I  did  what  I  could,  whenever  I  had  any  oppor- 
tunity, to  stand  up  for  the  boy  in  a  quiet  way,  and 
with  all  respect  to  those  who  were  his  natural 
guardians.  But,  on  the  whole,  much  as  I  knew  we 
should  miss  him  in  the  nursery,  I  was  scarcely  sorry 
to  hear  not  many  weeks  after  the  little  events  I  have 
been  telling  about,  that  Master  Francis's  going  to 
school  was  decided  upon.  It  was  to  be  immediately 
after  the  Christmas  holidays,  and  we  were  now  in 
the  month  of  October. 


CHAPTER   IX. 

UPSET  PLANS. 

BUT,  as  everybody  knows,  things  in  this  world 
seldom  turn  out  as  they  are  planned. 

There  was  a  great  deal  of  writing  and  considering 
about  Master  Francis's  school,  and  I  could  see  that 
both  Sir  Hulbert  and  my  lady  had  it  much  on  their 
minds.  They  would  never  have  thought  of  sending 
him  anywhere  but  of  the  best,  but  in  those  days 
schools,  even  for  little  boys,  cost,  I  fancy,  quite  as 
much  or  more  than  now.  And  I  can't  say  but  what 
I  think  that  the  worry  and  the  difficulty  about  it 
rather  added  to  his  aunt's  prejudice  against  the  boy. 

However,  before  long,  all  was  settled,  the  school 
was  chosen  and  the  very  day  fixed,  and  in  our 
different  ways  we  began  to  get  accustomed  to  the 
idea.  Master  Francis,  I  could  see,  had  two  quite 
opposite  ways  of  looking  at  it :  he  was  bitterly  sorry 
to  go,  to  leave  the  home  and  those  in  it  whom  he 
loved  so  dearly,  more  dearly,  I  think,  than  any  one 
understood.  And  he  took  much  to  heart  also  the 
fresh  expenses  for  his  uncle.  But,  on  the  other 
hand,  he  was  eager  to  get  on  with  his  learning ;  he 

106 


UPSET   PLANS.  107 

liked  it  for  its  own  sake,  and,  as  he  used  to  say  to  me 
sometimes  when  we  were  talking  alone  — 

"  It's  only  by  my  mind,  you  know,  nurse,  that  I 
can  hope  to  be  good  for  anything.  If  I  had  been 
strong  and  my  leg  all  right,  I'd  have  been  a  soldier 
like  papa,  I  suppose." 

"  There's  soldiers  and  soldiers,  you  must  remem- 
ber, Master  Francis,"  I  would  reply.  "  There's  vic- 
tories to  be  won  far  greater  than  those  on  the 
battlefield.  And  many  a  one  who's  done  the  best 
work  in  this  world  has  been  but  feeble  and  weakly 
in  health." 

His  eyes  used  to  brighten  up  when  I  spoke  like 
that.  Sometimes,  too,  I  would  try  to  cheer  him  by 
reminding  him  there  was  no  saying  but  what  he 
might  turn  out  a  fairly  strong  man  yet.  Many  a 
delicate  boy  got  improved  at  school,  I  had  heard. 

But  alas !  —  or  "  alas  "  at  least  it  seemed  at  the 
time  —  everything  was  changed  by  what  happened 
that  winter. 

It  was  cold,  colder  than  is  usual  in  this  part  of 
the  world,  and  I  think  Master  Francis  had  got  it  in 
his  head  to  try  and  harden  himself  by  way  of  pre- 
paring for  school  life.  My  lady  used  to  say  little 
things  sometimes,  with  a  good  motive,  I  dare  say, 
about  not  minding  the  cold  and  plucking  up  a  spirit, 
and  what  her  brothers  used  to  do  when  they  were 
young,  all  of  which  Master  Francis  took  to  heart  in 
a  way  she  would  not  have  then  believed  if  she  had 


108  NUESE  HEATHEEDALE'S  STOEY. 

been  told  it.  Dear  me  !  it  is  strange  to  think  of  it, 
when  I  remember  how  perfectly  in  later  years  those 
two  came  to  understand  each  other,  and  how  nobody 
—  after  she  lost  her  good  husband  —  was  such  a  staff 
and  support  to  her,  such  a  counsellor  and  comfort, 
as  the  nephew  she  had  so  little  known  —  her  "  more 
than  son,"  as  I  had  often  heard  her  call  him. 

But  I  am  wandering  away  from  my  story.  I  was 
just  getting  to  Master  Francis's  illness.  How  it  came 
about  no  one  could  really  tell.  It  is  not  often  one 
can  trace  back  illnesses  to  their  cause.  Most  often  I 
fancy  there  are  more  than  one.  But  just  after  Christ- 
mas Master  Francis  began  with  rheumatic  fever.  We 
couldn't  at  first  believe  it  was  going  to  be  anything 
so  bad.  For  my  lady's  sake,  and  indeed  for  every- 
body's, I  tried  to  cheer  up  and  be  hopeful,  in  spite 
of  the  doctor's  gloomy  looks.  It  was  a  real  dis- 
appointment to  myself  and  took  down  my  pride  a 
bit,  for  I  had  done  my  best  by  the  child,  hoping  to 
start  him  for  school  as  strong  and  well  as  was 
possible  for  him.  And  any  one  less  just  and  fair 
than  my  lady  might  have  had  back  thoughts,  such 
as  damp  feet,  or  sheets  not  aired  enough,  or  chills  of 
some  kind,  that  a  little  care  might  have  avoided. 

It  was  my  belief  that  he  had  been  feeling  worse 
than  usual  for  some  time,  but  never  a  complaint  had 
he  made,  perhaps  he  wouldn't  own  it  to  himself. 

It  wasn't  till  two  nights  after  Christmas  that,  sit- 
ting by  the  nursery  fire,  just  after  Miss  Augusta  had 
been  put  to  bed,  he  said  to  me  — 


UPSET   PLANS.  109 

*  "Nurse,  I  can't  help  it,  my  leg  is  so  dreadfully 
bad,  and  not  my  leg  only,  the  pain  of  it  seems  all 
over.  I'm  all  bad  legs  to-night,"  and  he  tried  to 
smile.  "  May  I  go  to  bed  now,  and  perhaps  it  will 
be  all  right  in  the  morning  ?  " 

I  was  frightened  !  Sir  Hulbert  and  my  lady  were 
dining  out  that  evening,  which  but  seldom  hap- 
pened, and  when  I  got  over  my  start  a  little  I  wasn't 
sorry  for  it,  hoping  that  a  good  night  might  show  it 
was  nothing  serious. 

We  got  him  to  bed  as  fast  as  we  could.  There 
was  no  going  down  to  dessert  that  evening,  so  Miss 
Bess  and  Miss  Lalage  set  to  work  to  help  me,  like 
the  womanly  little  ladies  they  were;  one  of  them 
running  downstairs  to  see  about  plenty  of  hot  water 
for  a  good  bath  and  hot  bottles,  and  the  other  fetch- 
ing the  under  housemaid  to  see  to  a  fire  in  his 
room.  I  doubt  if  he  had  ever  had  one  before.  Bed- 
room fires  were  not  in  my  lady's  rule,  and  I  don't 
hold  with  them  myself,  except  in  illness  or  extra 
cold  weather. 

He  cheered  up  a  little,  and  even  laughed  at  the 
fuss  we  made.  And  before  his  uncle  and  aunt 
returned  he  was  sound  asleep,  looking  quiet  and 
comfortable,  so  that  I  didn't  think  it  needful  to  say 
anything  to  them  that  night.  But  long  before  morn- 
ing, for  I  crept  upstairs  to  his  room  every  hour  or 
two,  I  saw  that  it  was  not  going  off  as  I  had  hoped. 
He  started  and  moaned  in  his  sleep,  and  once  or 


110  NURSE  HEATHERDALE'S  STORY. 

twice  when  I  found  him  awake,  he  seemed  almost 
lightheaded,  and  as  if  he  hardly  knew  me.  Once  I 
heard  him  whisper :  "  Oh  !  it  hurts  so,"  as  if  he  could 
scarcely  bear  it. 

About  five  o'clock  I  dressed  myself  and  took  up 
my  watch  beside  him.  My  lady  was  an  early  riser  ; 
by  eight  o'clock,  in  answer  to  a  message  from  me, 
she  was  with  us  herself  in  her  dressing-gown.  Mas- 
ter Francis  was  awake. 

"  O  my  lady !  "  I  said,  "  I'd  no  thought  of  bringing 
you  up  so  early,  and  you  were  late  last  night  too." 
For  they  had  had  a  long  drive.  "  It  was  only  that  I 
dursn't  take  upon  me  to  send  for  the  doctor  without 
asking." 

"No,  no,  of  course  not,"  she  said.  And  indeed 
that  was  a  liberty  my  lady  would  not  have  been 
pleased  with  any  one's  taking.  "  Do  you  really  think 
it  necessary  ?  " 

The  poor  child  was  looking  a  little  better  just 
then,  the  pain  was  not  so  bad.  He  seemed  quiet  and 
dreamy-like,  though  his  face  was  flushed  and  his  eyes 
very  bright. 

"  Auntie  !  "  he  said,  smiling  a  very  little  ;  "  how 
pretty  you  look  !  " 

And  so  she  did  in  her  long  white  dressing-gown, 
with  her  lovely  fair  hair  hanging  about,  for  all  the 
world  like  Miss  Lally's. 

I  think  myself  the  fever  was  on  his  brain  a  little 
already,  else  he  would  scarce  have  dared  speak  so  to 
his  aunt. 


AUNTIE  !  "  HE   SAID,   SMILING  A  VERT   LITTLE  ;    "  HOW    PRETTY  you 
LOOK!  "  —  p.  110. 


UPSET  PLANS.  Ill 

She  took  no  notice,  but  drew  me  out  of  the  room. 

"  What  in  the  world's  the  matter  with  him  ?  "  she 
said,  anxious  and  yet  irritated  at  the  same  time. 
"  Has  he  been  doing  anything  foolish  that  can  have 
made  him  ill  ?  " 

I  shook  my  head. 

"  It's  seldom  one  can  tell  how  illness  comes,  but  I 
feel  sure  the  doctor  should  see  him,"  I  replied. 

So  he  was  sent  for,  and  before  the  day  was  many 
hours  older,  there  was  little  doubt  left  —  though,  as  I 
said  before,  I  tried  for  a  bit  to  hope  it  was  only  a 
bad  cold  —  that  Master  Francis  was  in  for  something 
very  serious. 

Almost  from  the  first  the  doctor  spoke  of  rheu- 
matic fever.  There  was  a  sort  of  comfort  in  this, 
bad  as  it  was — the  comfort  of  knowing  there  was  no 
infection  to  fear.  It  was  a  great  comfort  to  Master 
Francis  himself,  whenever  he  felt  the  least  bit  easier, 
now  and  then  to  see  his  cousins  for  a  minute  or  two 
at  a  time,  without  any  risk  to  them.  For  one  of  his 
first  questions  to  the  doctor  was  whether  his  illness 
was  anything  the  others  could  catch. 

After  that  for  a  few  days  he  was  so  bad  that  he 
could  really  think  of  nothing  but  how  to  bear  the 
pain  patiently.  Then  when  he  grew  a  shade  better, 
he  began  about  going  to  school. 

"  What  was  the  day  of  the  month?  Would  he  be 
well,  quite  well,  by  the  20th,  or  whatever  day  school 
began  ?  Uncle  would  be  so  disappointed  if  it  had  to 


112  NTJESE  HEATHERDALE'S  STOKY. 

be  put  off  "  —  and  so  on,  over  and  over  again,  till  at 
last  I  had  to  speak,  not  only  to  the  doctor,  but  to  Sir 
Hulbert  himself,  about  the  way  the  boy  was  worrying 
in  his  mind. 

The  doctor  tried  to  put  him  off  by  saying  he  was 
getting  on  famously,  and  such-like  speeches.  A  few 
quiet  words  from  Sir  Hulbert  had  far  more  effect. 

"  My  dear  boy,"  he  said  gravely,  "  what  you  have 
to  do  is  to  try  to  get  well  and  not  fret  yourself.  If 
it  is  God's  will  that  your  going  to  school  should  be 
put  off,  you  must  not  take  it  to  heart.  You're  not 
in  such  a  hurry  to  leave  us  as  all  that,  are  you  ?  " 

The  last  few  words  were  spoken  very  kindly  and 
he  smiled  as  he  said  them.  I  was  glad  of  it,  for  I 
had  not  thought  his  uncle  quite  as  tender  of  the  boy 
as  he  had  used  to  be.  They  pleased  Master  Francis, 
I  could  see,  and  another  thought  came  into  his  mind 
which  helped  to  quiet  him. 

"  Anyway,  nurse,"  he  said  to  me  one  day,  "  there'll 
be  a  good  deal  of  expense  saved  if  I  don't  go  to 
school  till  Easter." 

It  never  struck  him  that  there  are  few  things  more 
expensive  than  illness,  and  as  I  had  no  idea  till  my 
lady  told  me  that  the  term  had  to  be  paid  for, 
whether  he  went  to  school  or  not,  I  was  able  to  agree 
with  him. 

I  was  deeply  sorry  for  my  lady  in  those  days. 
Some  might  be  hard  upon  her,  for  not  forgetting  all 
else  in  thankfulness  that  the  child's  life  was  spared, 


UPSET   PLANS.  113 

and  I  know  she  tried  to  do  so,  but  it  was  difficult. 
And  when  she  spoke  out  to  me  one  day,  and  told  me 
about  the  schooling  having  to  be  paid  all  the  same,  I 
really  did  feel  for  her ;  knowing  through  Mrs.  Brent, 
as  I  have  mentioned,  all  the  past  history  of  the 
troubles  brought  about  by  poor  Master  Francis's 
father. 

"  I  hope  he'll  live  to  be  a  comfort  to  you  yet,  if  I 
may  say  so,  my  lady,  and  I've  a  strong  feeling  that 
he  will,"  I  said  (she  reminded  me  of  those  words  long 
after),  "  and  in  the  meantime  you  may  trust  to  Mrs. 
Brent  and  me  to  keep  all  expense  down  as  much 
as  possible,  while  seeing  that  Master  Francis  has  all 
he  needs.  I'm  sure  we  can  manage  without  a  sick- 
nurse  now." 

For  there  had  been  some  talk  of  having  one  sent 
for  from  London,  though  in  those  days  it  was  less 
done  than  seems  the  case  now. 

And  after  a  while  things  began  to  mend.  It  was 
not  a  very  bad  attack,  less  so  than  we  had  feared  at 
first.  In  about  ten  days'  time  Mrs.  Brent  and  Susan 
the  housemaid  and  I,  who  had  taken  it  in  turns  to 
sit  up  all  night,  were  able  to  go  to  bed  as  usual,  only 
seeing  to  it  that  the  fire  was  made  up  once  in  the 
night,  so  as  to  last  on  till  morning,  and  the  day's 
work  grew  steadily  lighter. 

Once  they  had  finished  their  lessons,  the  little 
girls  were  always  eager  to  keep  their  cousin  com- 
pany. He  was  only  allowed  to  have  them  one  at  a 


114  NUBSE  HEATHERDALE'S  STOKY. 

time.  Miss  Bess  used  to  take  the  first  turn,  but  it 
was  hard  work  for  her,  poor  child,  to  keep  still, 
though  it  grew  easier  for  her  when  it  got  the  length 
of  his  being  able  for  reading  aloud.  But  Miss  Lally 
from  the  first  was  a  perfect  model  of  a  little  sick- 
nurse.  Mouse  was  no  word  for  her,  so  still  and 
noiseless  and  yet  so  watchful  was  she,  and"  if  ever 
she  was  left  in  charge  of  giving  him  his  medicine  at 
a  certain  time,  I  could  feel  as  sure  as  sure  that  it 
wouldn't  be  forgotten.  When  he  was  inclined  to 
talk  a  little,  she  knew  just  how  to  manage  him  — 
how  to  amuse  him  without  exciting  him  at  all,  and 
always  to  cheer  him  up. 

The  weather  was  unusually  bad  just  then,  though 
we  did  our  best  to  prevent  Master  Francis  feeling  it, 
by  keeping  his  room  always  at  an  even  heat,  but 
there  were  many  days  on  which  the  young  ladies 
couldn't  get  out.  Altogether  it  was  a  trying  time, 
and  for  no  one  more  than  for  my  lady. 

I  couldn't  help  thinking  sometimes  how  different 
it  would  have  been  if  Master  Francis  had  been  her 
own  child,  when  the  joy  of  his  recovering  would 
have  made  all  other  troubles  seem  nothing.  I  felt 
it  both  for  her  and  for  him,  though  I  don't  think 
he  noticed  it  himself;  and  after  all,  now  that  I 
can  look  back  on  things  having  come  so  perfectly 
right,  perhaps  it  is  foolish  to  recall  those  shadows. 
Only  it  makes  the  pictures  of  their  lives  more 
true. 


UPSET   PLANS.  115 

Through  it  all  I  could  see  my  lady  was  trying  her 
best  to  have  none  but  kind  and  nice  feelings. 

"  The  doctor  says  that  though  Francis  will  really 
be  almost  as  well  as  usual  in  three  or  four  weeks 
from  now,  there  can  be  no  question  of  his  going 
to  school  for  ever  so  long  —  perhaps  not  at  all  this 
year." 

"  Dear,  dear,"  I  said.  "  But  you  won't  have  to  go 
on  paying  for  it  all  the  same,  my  lady  ?  " 

She  smiled  at  this. 

"  No,  no,  not  quite  so  bad  as  that,  only  this  one 
term,  which  is  paid  already.  Sir  Hulbert  might  have 
got  off  paying  it  if  he  had  really  explained  how 
difficult  it  was.  But  that's  just  the  sort  of  thing  it 
would  really  be  lowering  for  him  to  do,"  and  she 
sighed.  "  The  doctor  says  too,"  she  went  on  again, 
"that  by  rights  the  boy  should  have  a  course  of 
German  baths,  that  might  do  him  good  for  all  his 
life ;  but  how  we  could  manage  that  I  can't  see, 
though  Sir  Hulbert  is  actually  thinking  of  it.  I 
doubt  if  he  would  think  of  it  as  much  if  it  were  for 
one  of  our  own  children,"  she  added  rather  bitterly. 

"  He  feels  Master  Francis  a  sort  of  charge,  I  sup- 
pose," I  said,  meaning  to  show  my  sympathy. 

"  He  is  a  charge  indeed,"  said  his  aunt.  "  And  to 
think  that  all  this  time  he  might  have  been  really 
improving  at  school." 

I  could  say  nothing  more,  but  I  did  grieve  that  she 
couldn't  take  things  in  a  different  spirit. 


116  NURSE  HEATHERDALE'S  STORY. 

"It's  an  ill  wind  that  blows  nobody  any  good." 
Miss  Lally  had  a  fine  time  for  her  knitting  just  then, 
with  Master  Francis  out  of  the  way.  Of  course  if  he 
had  been  at  school  there  would  have  been  no  diffi- 
culty, and  she  had  planned  to  have  his  socks  ready 
to  send  him  on  his  birthday,  the  end  of  March.  Now 
she  had  got  on  so  fast  —  one  sock  finished  and  the 
heel  of  the  other  turned,  though  not  without  many 
sighs  and  even  a  few  tears  —  that  she  hoped  to  have 
them  as  a  surprise  the  first  day  he  came  down  to  the 
nursery. 

"  I'll  have  to  begin  working  in  the  attic  again, 
after  that,"  she  said  to  me,  "  for  I'm  going  to  make 
a  pair  for  baby." 

"  That's  to  say  if  the  weather  gets  warmer,"  I  said 
to  her.  "  You  certainly  couldn't  have  sat  up  in  the 
attic  these  last  few  weeks,  Miss  Lally." 


CHAPTER  X. 

THE  NEW   BABY. 

THE  weather  did  improve.  The  winter  having 
been  so  unusually  severe  was  made  up  for,  as  I  think 
often  happens,  by  a  bright  and  early  spring.  By  the 
beginning  of  April  Master  Francis  was  able  to  be  out 
again,  though  of  course  only  for  a  little  in  the  middle 
of  the  day,  and  we  had  to  be  very  careful  lest  he 
should  catch  the  least  cold.  I  was  exceedingly  glad, 
really  more  glad  than  I  can  say,  that  his  getting 
well  went  through  without  any  backcasts.  For 
himself  he  was  really  better  than  the  doctor  had 
dared  to  hope,  but  as  he  began  to  move  about  more 
freely  I  was  grieved  to  see  that  the  stiffness  of  his 
leg  seemed  worse  than  before  his  illness.  I  don't  think 
it  pained  him  much,  at  least  he  didn't  complain. 

In  the  meantime  I  thought  it  would  be  best  to 
say  nothing  about  it,  half  hoping  that  he  didn't 
notice  it  himself,  but  I  heard  no  talk  of  his  going  to 
school. 

I  shall  never  forget  one  morning  in  April  —  it  was 
towards  the  end  of  the  month,  a  most  lovely  sunny 
morning  it  was,  as  I  went  up  the  winding  staircase 
leading  to  Master  Francis's  room  in  the  tower.  The 

117 


118  NURSE  HEATHERDALE'S  STORY. 

sunshine  came  pouring  in  through  the  narrow  win- 
dows as  brilliant  as  if  it  had  been  midsummer,  and 
the  songs  of  the  birds  outside  seemed  to  tell  how 
they  were  enjoying  it,  yet  it  was  only  half -past  six ! 
The  little  ladies  below  were  all  sleeping  soundly,  but 
Master  Francis,  I  knew,  always  woke  very  early,  and 
somehow  I  had  a  feeling  that  he  must  be  the  first  to 
hear  the  good  news. 

As  I  knocked  at  the  door  I  heard  him  moving 
inside.  He  had  got  up  to  open  the  window;  the 
room  seemed  flooded  with  light  as  I  went  in.  Master 
Francis  was  sitting  up  in  bed  reading,  or  learning 
some  of  his  lessons  more  likely,  for  he  was  well 
enough  now  to  have  gone  back  to  regular  ways.  He 
looked  up  very  brightly. 

"  Isn't  it  a  most  beautiful  morning,  nurse  ? "  he 
said.  "The  sunshine  woke  me  even  earlier  than 
usual,  so  I'm  looking  over  my  Latin.  Auntie  doesn't 
mind  my  reading  in  bed  in  the  morning.  It  isn't 
like  at  night  with  candles." 

"  No,  of  course  not,"  I  said.  "  But,  Master  Francis, 
I  want  you  to  leave  off  thinking  about  your  lessons 
for  a  minute.  I  rather  fancy  you'll  have  a  holiday 
to-day.  I've  got  a  piece  of  news  for  you !  I  wonder 
if  you  can  guess  what  has  happened  ?  " 

He  opened  his  eyes  wide  in  surprise. 

"It  must  be  something  good,"  he  said,  "or  you 
wouldn't  look  so  pleased.  What  can  it  be?  It 
can't  be  that  Uncle  Hulbert's  got  a  lot  of  money." 


THE   NEW   BABY.  119 

"  There  are  some  things  better  than  money,"  I 
said.  "  What  would  you  think  if  a  dear  little  baby 
boy  had  come  in  the  night  ?  " 

His  whole  face  flushed  pink  with  pleasure. 

"  Nurse  !  "  he  said.  "  Is  it  really  true  ?  Oh  !  how 
pleased  I  am.  Just  the  very  thing  auntie  has 
wanted  so  —  a  little  boy  of  her  own.  I  may  count 
him  like  a  brother,  mayn't  I?  Won't  Bess  and 
Lally  be  pleased !  Do  they  know  ?  Mayn't  I  get  up 
at  once,  and  when  do  you  think  I  may  see  him?  " 

"Some  time  to-day,  I  hope,"  I  answered.  "No, 
the  young  ladies  don't  know  yet.  They're  fast 
asleep.  But  I  thought  you'd  like  to  know." 

"  How  good  of  you ! "  he  said.  "  I'm  just  so 
pleased  that  I  don't  know  what  to  do." 

What  a  morning  of  excitement  it  was,  to  be  sure  ! 
The  children  were  all  half  off  their  heads  with  de- 
light. All,  that  is  to  say,  except  Miss  Baby,  who 
burst  out  crying  in  the  middle  of  her  breakfast, 
sobbing  that  she  "  wouldn't  have  no  —  something  —  " 
We  couldn't  make  out  what  for  ever  so  long,  till  we 
found  it  was  her  name  she  was  crying  about,  as  of 
course  we  were  all  talking  of  the  new  little  brother 
as  "  the  baby."  We  comforted  her  by  saying  that 
anyway  he  would  not  be  "Miss  Baby";  and  perhaps 
from  that  it  came  about  that  her  old  name  clung  to 
her  till  she  was  quite  a  big  girl,  and  almost  from  the 
first  Master  Bevil  got  his  real  name. 

He  was  a  great  darling  —  so  strong  and  hearty  too 


120  NURSE   HEATHERDAL^'S   STORY. 

—  and  so  handsome  even  as  an  infant.  Everything 
seemed  to  go  right  with  him  from  the  very  beginning. 

"  Surely,"  I  often  said  to  myself,  "  he  will  bring  a 
blessing  with  him.  And  now  that  my  lady's  great 
wish  has  been  granted,  I  do  hope  she  will  feel  more 
trustful  and  less  anxious." 

I  hoped  too  that  she  would  now  have  happier 
feelings  to  poor  Master  Francis,  especially  when  she 
saw  his  devotion  to  the  baby  boy.  For  of  all  the 
children  I  must  say  he  was  the  one  who  loved  the 
little  creature  the  most. 

And  for  a  while  all  seemed  tending  in  the  right 
way,  but  when  the  baby  was  a  few  weeks  old,  I 
began  to  fear  that  something  of  the  old  trouble  was 
in  the  air  again.  Fresh  money  difficulties  happened 
about  that  time,  though  of  course  I  didn't  know 
exactly  what  they  were.  But  it  was  easy  to  see  that 
my  lady  was  fretted,  she  was  not  one  to  hide  any- 
thing she  was  feeling. 

One  day,  it  was  in  June,  as  far  as  I  remember,  my 
lady  was  in  the  nursery  with  Miss  Lally  and  Miss 
Baby  and  the  real  baby.  The  two  elder  children 
were  downstairs  at  their  lessons  with  Sir  Hulbert. 
Master  Bevil  was  looking  beautiful  that  afternoon. 
We  had  laid  him  down  on  a  rug  on  the  floor,  and  he 
was  kicking  and  crowing  as  if  he  had  been  six  months 
old,  his  little  sisters  chattering  and  laughing  to  him, 
while  my  lady  sat  by  in  the  rocking-chair,  looking 
for  once  as  if  she  had  thrown  all  her  cares  aside. 


THE  NEW   BABY.  121 

"  He  really  is  getting  on  beautifully,"  she  said  to 
me.  "  Doesn't  he  look  a  great  big  boy  ?  " 

I  was  rather  glad  of  the  remark,  for  it  gave  me  a 
chance  to  say  something  that  had  been  on  my  mind. 

"  We'll  have  to  be  thinking  of  short-coating  him, 
before  we  know  where  we  are,  my  lady,"  I  said  with 
a  smile.  "  And  there's  another  thing  I've  been  think- 
ing of.  He's  such  a  heavy  boy  to  carry  already,  and 
as  time  gets  on  it  would  be  a  pity  for  our  walks  to  be 
shortened  in  the  fine  weather.  We  had  a  beautiful 
basket  for  the  donkey  at  Mrs.  Wingate's,  it  was  made 
so  that  even  a  little  baby  could  lie  quite  comfortably 
in  it." 

"  That  would  be  very  nice,"  my  lady  answered. 
"I'll  speak  to  Sir  Hulbert  about  it.  Only  —  "  and 
again  a  rather  worried  look  came  into  her  face.  I 
could  see  that  she  had  got  back  to  the  old  thought, 
"everything  costs  money."  "We  must  do  something 
about  it  before  long,"  she  added. 

Just  then  Miss  Bess  ran  into  the  room,  followed 
more  slowly  by  her  cousin. 

"  What  are  you  talking  about  ?  "  she  said. 

"  About  how  dear  fat  baby  is  to  go  walks  with  us 
when  he  gets  still  fatter  and  heavier,"  said  Miss 
Lally.  "  Poor  nurse  couldn't  carry  him  so  very  far, 
you  know,  and  mamma  says  perhaps  — 

"  Oh !  nonsense,"  interrupted  Miss  Bess ;  "  we'd 
carry  him  in  turns,  the  darling." 

My  lady  looked  up  quickly  at  this. 


122  NURSE  HEATHERDALE'S  STORY. 

"Don't  talk  so  foolishly,  child,"  she  said  sharply. 
For,  fond  as  she  was  of  Miss  Bess,  she  could  put  her 
down  sometimes,  and  just  now  the  little  girl  scarcely 
deserved  it,  it  seemed  to  me.  "  I  won't  allow  any- 
thing of  that  kind,"  she  went  on.  "  You  are  far  too 
young,  all  of  you  —  Francis  especially,  must  never 
attempt  to  carry  baby.  Do  you  hear,  children? 
Nurse,  you  must  be  strict  about  this." 

"  Certainly,  my  lady,"  I  replied.  "  Master  Francis 
and  the  young  ladies  have  never  done  more  than  just 
hold  Master  Bevil  in  their  arms  for  a  moment,  me 
standing  close  by." 

Then  they  went  on  to  talk  about  getting  a  basket 
for  the  donkey,  which  they  were  very  much  taken 
up  about.  I  didn't  notice  at  the  time  that  Master 
Francis  had  only  looked  in  for  an  instant  and  gone 
off  again ;  but  that  evening  at  tea  time,  when  Miss 
Bess  and  Miss  Lally  said  something  about  old  Jacob, 
Master  Francis  asked  what  they  meant,  which  I 
remembered  afterwards  as  showing  that  he  had  not 
heard  his  aunt's  strict  orders. 

It  was  a  week  or  two  after  that,  that  one  lovely 
afternoon  we  all  set  out  on  a  walk  together.  We 
had  planned  to  go  rather  farther  than  we  had  yet 
been  with  the  baby,  resting  here  and  there  on  the 
way,  it  was  so  warm  and  sunny  and  he  was  not  yet 
so  very  heavy,  of  course. 

All  went  well,  and  we  found  ourselves  close  to 
home  again  in  nice  time.  For  of  course  I  knew  that 


THE  KBW  BABY.  123 

if  we  stayed  out  too  long  it  would  be  only  natural 
for  my  lady  to  be  anxious. 

"  It's  rather  too  soon  to  go  in  and  it's  such  a 
beautiful  afternoon,"  said  Miss  Bess  as  we  were 
coming  up  the  drive.  "  Do  let  us  go  into  the  little 
wood,  for  half  an  hour  or  so,  nurse,  and  you  might 
tell  us  a  story." 

The  little  wood  skirts  the  drive  at  one  side.  It  is 
a  sweet  place,  in  the  early  summer  especially,  so 
many  wild  flowers  and  ferns,  and  lots  of  squirrels 
overhead  among  the  branches,  and  little  rabbits 
scudding  about  down  below. 

We  found  a  cosy  nook,  where  we  settled  ourselves. 
The  little  brother  was  fast  asleep,  the  three  elder 
ones  sat  round  me,  while  Miss  Baby  toddled  off  a 
little  way,  busy  about  some  of  her  own  funny  little 
plays  by  herself,  though  well  within  sight. 

I  was  in  the  middle  of  a  long  story  of  having  been 
lost  in  the  fir-woods  at  home  as  a  child,  when  a  loud 
scream  made  us  all  start,  and  looking  up  I  saw  to  my 
alarm  that  Miss  Baby  was  no  longer  to  be  seen. 

"Dear,  dear,"  I  cried,  jumping  up  in  a  fright. 
"  She  must  have  hurt  herself.  Here,  Master  Francis, 
hold  the  baby  for  a  moment,  don't  get  up ; "  and  I 
put  his  little  cousin  down  safely  in  his  arms. 

I  meant  him  not  to  stir  till  I  came  back,  but  he 
didn't  understand  this.  Miss  Bess  was  already  off 
after  her  little  sister,  and  after  a  minute  or  two  we 
found  her,  not  hurt  at  all,  but  crying  loudly  at 


124  NURSE  HEATHERBALE'S  STORY. 

having  fallen  down  and  dirtied  her  frock  in  running 
away  from  what  she  called  a  "  bear,"  coming  out  of 
the  wood  —  most  likely  only  a  branch  of  a  tree 
swaying  about. 

It  took  a  little  time  to  quiet  her  and  to  set  her  to 
rights  again,  and  when  we  got  back  to  the  other 
children  I  was  surprised  to  see  that  the  baby  was 
now  in  Miss  Lally's  arms,  Master  Francis  kneeling 
beside  them  wiping  something  with  his  handker- 
chief. 

"  There's  nothing  wrong,  I  hope,"  I  said,  rather 
startled  again. 

"  Oh  no  !  "  said  Miss  Lally.  "  It's  only  that  little 
brother  cried  and  Francie  walked  him  up  and  down 
and  somefing  caught  Francie's  foot  and  he  felled,  but 
baby  didn't  fall.  Francie  held  him  tight,  only  a 
twig  scratched  baby's  nose  a  tiny  little  bit.  But  he 
doesn't  mind,  he's  laughing." 

So  he  was,  though  sure  enough  there  was  a  thin 
red  line  right  across  his  plump  little  nose,  and  the 
least  little  mark  of  blood  on  the  handkerchief  with 
which  his  cousin  had  been  tenderly  dabbing  it. 
Master  Francis  himself  was  so  pale  that  I  hadn't  the 
heart  to  say  more  to  him  than  just  a  word. 

"I  had  meant  you  to  sit  still  with  him,  my  dear." 

"But  he  cried  so,"  said  the  boy. 

However,  there  was  no  harm  done,  though  I 
thought  to  myself  I'd  be  more  careful  than  ever, 
but  unluckily  just  as  we  were  within  a  few  steps  of 


THE  HEW   BABY.  125 

the  house  whom  should  we  see  but  ray  lady  coming 
to  meet  us.  I'm  never  one  for  hiding  things, 
but  I  did  wish  she  had  not  happened  to  come  just 
then. 

She  noticed  the  scratch  in  a  moment,  as  she 
stooped  to  kiss  the  baby,  though  really  there  was 
nothing  to  mind,  seeing  the  dear  child  so  rosy  and 
happy  looking. 

"  What's  the  matter  with  his  nose  ? "  she  said 
quickly.  "  You  haven't  any  pins  about  you,  nurse, 
surely?" 

Pins  were  not  in  my  way,  certainly,  but  I  could 
have  found  it  in  my  heart  to  wish  I  could  own  to 
one  just  then,  for  Master  Francis  started  forward. 

"  Oh  no  !  Aunt  Helen,"  he  said,  "it  was  my  fault. 
I  was  walking  him  about  for  a  minute  or  two,  while 
nurse  went  after  Baby,  and  my  foot  slipt,  but  I  only 
came  down  on  my  knees  and  he  didn't  fall.  It  was 
only  a  twig  scratched  his  nose,  a  tiny  bit." 

My  lady  grew  first  red  then  white. 

"  He  might  have  been  killed,"  she  said ;  and  she 
caught  the  baby  from  me  and  kissed  him  over  and 
over  again.  Then  she  turned  to  Master  Francis,  and 
I  could  see  that  she  was  doing  her  best  to  keep  in 
her  anger. 

"  Francis,  how  dared  you,  after  what  I  said  the 
other  day  so  very  strongly  about  your  never  carrying 
the  baby?  Your  own  sense  might  have  told  you 
you  are  not  able  to  carry  him,  but  besides  that,  what 


126  NURSE  HEATHERDALE'S  STORY. 

I  said  makes   it   distinct  disobedience.     Nurse,  did 
you  know  of  it  ?  " 

"  It  was  I  myself  gave  Master  Bevil  to  Master 
Francis  to  hold,"  I  said,  flurried  like  at  my  lady's 
displeasure.  "  I  hadn't  meant  him  to  walk  about 
with  him." 

"  Of  course  not,"  said  my  lady.  "  There  now,  you 
see,  Francis,  double  disobedience !  I  must  speak  to 
your  uncle.  Take  back  baby,  nurse,  he  must  have 
some  pomade  divine  on  his  nose  when  he  gets  in ; " 
and  before  any  of  us  had  time  to  speak  again  she 
had  turned  and  hurried  back  to  the  house.  My 
lady  had  always  a  quick  way  with  her,  pleased  or 
displeased. 

"She's  gone  to  tell  papa,"  said  the  young  ladies, 
looking  very  distressed. 

Master  Francis  was  quite  white  and  shaking  like. 

"  Nurse,"  he  said  at  last,  when  he  had  got  voice 
enough  to  speak,  "  I  really  don't  know  what  auntie 
meant  about  something  she  said  the  other  day." 
.  "  O  Franz  !  you  can't  have  forgotten,"  said  Miss 
Bess,  who  often  spoke  sharply  when  she  was  really 
very  sorry.  "  Mamma  did  say  most  plainly  that  none 
of  us  were  to  carry  baby  about." 

But  the  boy  still  looked  quite  puzzled,  and  when 
we  talked  it  over,  we  were  all  satisfied  that  he  hadn't 
been  in  the  room  at  the  time. 

"  I  must  try  to  put  it  right  with  my  lady,"  I  said, 
feeling  that  if  any  one  had  been  to  blame  in  the 


THE  NEW   BABY.  127 

matter  it  was  certainly  me  much  more  than  Master 
Francis,  for  not  having  kept  my  eye  better  on  Miss 
Baby  in  the  wood. 

But  we  were  a  very  silent  and  rather  sad  party 
as  we  made  our  way  back  slowly  to  the  house. 

I  couldn't  see  my  lady  till  late  that  evening,  and 
then,  though  I  did  my  best,  I  didn't  altogether  suc- 
ceed. She  had  already  spoken  to  Sir  Hulbert,  and 
nothing  would  convince  her  that  Master  Francis  had 
not  heard  at  least  some  part  of  what  she  said. 

Sir  Hulbert  was  always  calm  and  just;  he  sent 
for  the  boy  the  next  morning,  and  had  a  long  talk 
with  him.  Master  Francis  came  back  to  the  nursery 
looking  pale  and  grave,  but  more  thoughtful  than 
unhappy. 

"  Uncle  has  been  very  good  and  kind,"  was  all  he 
said.  "  And  I  will  try  never  to  vex  him  and  auntie 
again." 

Later  that  evening,  when  he  happened  to  be  alone 
with  me,  after  the  young  ladies  had  gone  to  bed,  he 
said  a  little  more.  I  was  sitting  by  the  fire  with 
Master  Bevil  on  my  knee.  Master  Francis  knelt 
down  beside  me  and  kissed  the  little  creature  ten- 
derly. Then  he  stroked  his  tiny  nose  —  the  mark  of 
the  scratch  had  almost  gone  already. 

"  You  darling  !  "  he  said.  "  Oh !  how  glad  I  am 
you  weren't  really  hurt.  Nurse,"  he  went  on,  "  I'd 
do  anything  for  this  baby,  I  do  love  him  so.  I  only 
wish  I  could  say  it  to  auntie  the  way  I  can  to  you. 


128  NURSE  HEATHERDALE'S  STORY. 

If  only  I  were  big  and  strong,  or  very  clever,  and 
could  work  for  him,  to  get  him  everything  he  should 
have,  and  then  it  would  make  up  a  little  for  all  the 
trouble  I've  been  always  to  them." 

He  spoke  quite  simply.  There  wasn't  a  thought 
of  himself  —  as  if  he  had  anything  to  complain  of,  or 
put  up  with,  I  mean  —  in  what  he  said.  But  all  the 
more  it  touched  me  very  much,  and  I  felt  the  tears 
come  into  my  eye,  but  I  wouldn't  have  Master 
Francis  see  it,  and  I  began  laughing  and  playing 
with  the  baby. 

"  See  his  dear  little  feet,"  I  said.  "  They're  almost 
the  prettiest  part  of  him.  He  kicks  so,  he  wears  out 
his  little  boots  in  no  time.  It  would  be  nice  if  Miss 
Lally  could  knit  some  for  him." 

Master  Francis  looked  surprised. 

"  Why,"  he  said,  "  do  you  call  those  little  white 
things  boots?  And  are  they  made  the  same  way 
as  my  socks?  I've  got  them  on  now;  aren't  they 
splendid?  I  really  think  it  was  very  clever  of 
Lally." 


CHAPTER  XI. 

IN  DISGRACE  AGAIN. 

HE  held  out  one  foot  to  be  admired. 

"  Yes,"  I  said,  "  they  are  very  nice  indeed,  and 
Miss  Lally  was  so  patient  about  them.  I'll  have  to 
think  of  some  other  knitting  for  her." 

"  O  nurse  !  "  said  Master  Francis  quickly,  then  he 
stopped.  "  I  must  ask  Lally  first,"  he  went  on ;  and 
I  heard  him  say,  as  if  speaking  to  himself  —  "it  would 
be  nice  to  please  auntie." 

For  a  day  or  two  after  that  I  saw  there  was  some 
mystery  going  on.  Master  Francis  and  Miss  Lally 
were  whispering  together  and  looking  very  impor- 
tant, and  one  fine  afternoon  the  secret  was  confided 
to  me. 

Miss  Bess  was  out  with  her  mamma,  and  Master 
Francis  had  disappeared  when  we  came  in  from  our 
walk,  a  rather  short  one  that  day.  Suddenly,  just  as 
we  were  sitting  down  to  tea,  and  I  was  wondering 
what  had  become  of  him,  he  hurried  in,  and  threw  a 
small  soft  white  packet  on  to  Miss  Lally's  lap. 

"  O  Francie  !  "  she  said,  "  have  you  really  got  it  ?  " 

Then  she  undid  the  parcel  and  showed  it  to  me ; 
it  was  white  wool. 

129 


130  NURSE  HEATHERDALE'S  STORY. 

"  Francie  has  bought  it  with  his  own  money,"  she 
said,  "  for  me  to  knit  a  pair  of  boots  for  baby,  and 
oh !  nursie,  will  you  show  me  how  ?  They're  to  be  a 
present  from  Francie  and  me ;  me  the  knitting  and 
Francie  the  wool,  and  we  want  it  to  be  quite  a  secret 
till  they're  ready.  It's  so  warm  now  I  can  knit  up 
in  the  attic.  Won't  mamma  be  pleased?" 

"  Certainly,  my  dear,"  I  said.  "  I'll  do  my  best  to 
teach  you.  They'll  be  rather  difficult,  for  we'll  have 
to  put  in  some  fancy  stitches,  but  I  think  you  can 
manage  it  now." 

Master  Francis  stood  by,  looking  as  interested  and 
pleased  as  Miss  Lally  herself. 

"  That  was  all  the  wool  Prideaux'  daughter  had," 
he  said.  "  Do  you  think  there'll  be  enough,  nurse  ? 
She'll  have  some  more  in  a  few  days." 

"  I  doubt  if  there'll  be  enough,"  I  said,  "  but  I  can 
tell  better  when  we've  got  them  begun." 

Begun  they  were,  that  very  evening.  Miss  Lally 
and  Master  Francis  set  to  work  to  wind  the  wool, 
having  first  spent  some  time  at  an  extra  washing  of 
their  hands,  for  fear  of  soiling  it  in  the  very  least. 

"  It's  so  beautifully  white,"  said  Miss  Lally,  "  like 
it  says  in  the  Bible,  isn't  it,  nursie  ?  It  would  be  a 
pity  to  dirty  it." 

Dear  me  !  how  happy  those  two  were  over  their 
innocent  secret,  and  how  little  I  thought  wThat  would 
come  of  Master  Bevil's  white  wool  bootikins ! 

The   knitting  got   on   nicely,  though   there  were 


IN  DISGRACE   AGAIN.  131 

some  difficulties  in  the  way.  The  weather  was 
getting  warmer,  and  it  is  not  easy  for  even  little 
ladies  to  keep  their  hands  quite  spotlessly  clean. 
The  ball  of  wool  had  to  be  tied  up  in  a  little  bag,  as 
it  would  keep  falling  on  the  floor,  and  besides  this, 
Miss  Lally  spread  out  a  clean  towel  in  the  corner 
where  she  sat  to  work  in  the  attic. 

I  gave  Miss  Bess  a  hint  that  there  was  a  new 
secret  and  got  her  to  promise  not  to  tease  the 
children,  and  she  was  really  good  about  it,  as  was 
her  way  if  she  felt  she  was  trusted.  Altogether,  for 
some  little  time  things  seemed  to  be  going  smoothly. 
Master  Francis  was  most  particular  to  do  nothing 
that  could  in  the  least  annoy  his  uncle  and  aunt,  or 
could  seem  like  disobedience  to  them. 

After  the  long  spell  of  fine  weather,  July  set  in 
with  heavy  rain.  I  had  now  been  a  whole  year  with 
the  dear  children.  I  remember  saying  so  to  them 
one  morning  when  we  were  all  at  breakfast. 

It  was  about  a  week  since  the  baby's  boots  had 
been  in  hand.  One  was  already  finished,  in  great 
part  by  Miss  Lally  herself,  though  I  had  had  to  do 
a  little  to  it  in  the  evenings  after  they  were  all  in  bed, 
setting  it  right  for  her  to  go  on  with  the  next  day. 

With  the  wet  weather  there  was  less  walking  out, 
of  course,  and  all  the  more  time  for  the  knitting.  On 
the  day  I  am  speaking  of  the  children  came  down 
from  the  attic  in  the  afternoon  with  rather  doleful 
faces. 


132  NURSE   HEATHERD ALE'S    STORY. 

"  Nursie,"  said  Miss  Lally,  "  I  have  been  getting 
on  so  nicely,"  and  indeed  I  had  not  required  to  do 
more  than  glance  at  her  work  for  two  or  three  days. 
"I  thought  I  would  have  had  it  ready  for  you  to 
begin  the  lace  part  round  the  top,  only,  just  fancy, 
the  wool's  done  !  " 

"They'll  have  more  at  the  shop  by  now>"  said 
Master  Francis.  "  If  only  it  would  clear  up  I  could 
go  to  the  village  for  it." 

"  It  may  be  finer  to-morrow,"  I  said,  "  but  there's 
no  chance  of  you  going  out  to-day ;  even  if  it  left  off 
raining,  the  ground's  far  too  wet  for  you  with  your 
rheumatism.  Now,  Miss  Lally,  my  dear,  don't  you 
begin  looking  so  doleful  about  it ;  you've  got  on  far 
quicker  than  you  could  have  expected." 

She  did  look  rather  doleful  all  the  same,  and  the 
worst  of  it  was  that  though  Master  Francis  would 
have  given  up  anything  for  himself,  he  never  could 
bear  Miss  Lally  to  be  disappointed. 

"I'm  so  much  better  now,  nurse,"  he  said.  "I 
don't  believe  even  going  out  in  the  rain  would  hurt 
me." 

"  It's  possible  it  mightn't  hurt  you,  but  —  "I  was 
beginning,  when  I  heard  Master  Bevil  crying -out  in 
the  other  room.  Miss  Lally  had  now  a  little  room 
of  her  own  on  the  other  side  of  the  nursery,  and  we 
had  saved  enough  of  Miss  Bess's  chintz  to  smarten  it 
up.  This  had  been  done  some  months  ago.  I  hadn't 
too  much  time  now,  and  the  young  girl  who  helped 


IK  DISGRACE  AGAIN.  133 

me  was  no  hand  at  sewing  at  all.  Off  I  hurried  to 
the  baby  without  finishing  what  I  was  saying  to 
Master  Francis,  and  indeed  I  never  gave  another 
thought  to  what  he'd  said  about  fetching  the  wool 
till  tea-time  came,  and  he  didn't  answer  when  we 
called  him,  thinking  he  was  in  his  own  room. 

Just  then,  unluckily,  my  lady  came  up  to  the  nurs- 
ery to  say  good-bye  to  the  children,  or  good-night 
rather,  for  she  and  Sir  Hulbert  were  going  to  dine 
at  Carris  Court,  which  is  a  long  drive  from  Treluan, 
and  the  roads  were  just  then  very  heavy  with  the  rain. 
She  came  in  looking  quite  bright  and  cheery.  I  can 
see  her  now  in  her  black  lace  dress  —  it  was  far  from 
new — it  was  seldom  my  lady  spent  anything  on  her- 
self —  but  it  suited  her  beautifully,  showing  off  her 
lovely  hair  and  fair  complexion.  One  little  diamond 
star  was  her  only  ornament.  I  forget  if  I  mentioned 
that  as  well  as  the  strange  disappearance  of  money 
at  the  death  of  old  Sir  David,  a  great  many  valuable 
family  jewels,  worth  thousands  of  pounds,  were  also 
missing,  so  it  was  but  little  that  Sir  Hulbert  had  been 
able  to  give  his  wife,  and  what  money  she  had  of  her 
own  she  wouldn't  have  spent  in  such  ways,  knowing 
from  the  first  how  things  were  with  him. 

She  came  in,  as  I  said,  looking  so  beautiful  and 
bright  that  I  felt  grieved  when  almost  in  a  moment 
her  look  changed. 

"  Where  is  Francis  ?  "  she  asked  quickly. 

"  He  must  be  somewhere  downstairs,  my  lady,"  I 


134  NURSE  HEATHERDALE'S  STORY. 

said.  "  He's  not  in  his  room,  but  no  doubt  he'll  be 
coming  directly." 

Esther,  the  nursery-maid,  was  just  then  coming 
in  with  some  tea-cakes  Mrs.  Brent  had  sent  us  up. 

"  Go  and  look  for  Master  Francis,  and  tell  him  to 
come  at  once,"  said  my  lady.  "  Surely  he  can't  have 
gone  out  anywhere,"  she  added  to  me  ;  "  it's  pouring, 
besides  he  isn't  allowed  to  go  out  without  leave." 

"  He'd  never  think  of  such  a  thing,"  I  said  quickly, 
"  after  being  so  ill  too."  But  even  as  I  spoke  the 
words,  there  came  into  my  mind  what  the  boy  had 
said  that  afternoon,  and  I  began  to  feel  a  little 
anxious,  though  of  course  I  didn't  let  my  lady  see  it, 
and  I  did  my  best  to  smooth  things  when  Esther 
came  back  to  say  that  he  was  nowhere  to  be  found. 
It  was  little  use,  however,  my  lady  began  to  be  thor- 
oughly put  out. 

She  hurried  off  to  Sir  Hulbert,  feeling  both  anx- 
ious and  angry,  and  a  good  half -hour  was  spent  in 
looking  for  the  boy  before  Sir  Hulbert  could  per- 
suade her  to  start.  He  was  vexed  too,  and  no  won- 
der, just  when  my  lady  had  been  looking  so  happy. 

"  Really,"  I  thought  to  myself,  "  Master  Francis 
is  tiresome  after  all."  And  I  was  thankful  when 
they  at  last  drove  off,  there  being  no  real  cause  for 
anxiety. 

No  sooner  had  the  sound  of  the  carriage-wheels 
died  away  than  the  nursery  door  opened  and  Master 
Francis  burst  in,  looking  for  once  like  a  regular 


IN  DISGRACE  AGAIN.  135 

pickle  of  a  boy.  His  eyes  bright  and  his  cheeks  rosy, 
though  he  was  covered  with  mud  from  head  to  foot, 
his  boots  really  not  to  be  thought  of  as  fit  to  come 
up  a  tidy  staircase. 

"  Hurrah ! "  he  cried,  shaking  a  little  parcel  over 
his  head.  "I've  got  it,  Lally.  And  I'm  not  a  bit 
wet  after  all,  nurse !  " 

"  Oh  no  !  "  said  Miss  Bess,  who  did  love  to  put  in 
her  word,  "  not  at  all.  Quite  nice  and  dry  and  tidy 
and  fit  to  sit  down  to  tea,  after  worrying  mamma 
out  of  her  wits  and  nearly  stopping  papa  and  her 
going  to  Carris." 

Master  Francis's  face  fell  at  once.  I  w^as  sorry  for 
him  and  yet  that  provoked  I  couldn't  but  join  in 
with  Miss  Bess. 

"  Go  upstairs  to  your  room  at  once,  Master  Fran- 
cis, and  undress  and  get  straight  into  your  bed.  I'll 
come  up  in  a  few  minutes  with  some  hot  tea  for  you. 
How  you  could  do  such  a  thing  close  upon  getting 
better  of  rheumatic  fever,  and  the  trouble  and  worry 
it  gave,  passes  me !  And  considering,  too,  what  I 
said  to  you  this  very  afternoon." 

"  You  didn't  actually  say  I  wasn't  to  go,"  he  said 
quickly.  "  You  know  quite  well  why  I  went,  and 
I'm  not  a  bit  wet  really.  I'm  all  muffled  up  in 
things  to  keep  me  dry.  I'm  nearly  suffocating." 

"All  the  worse,"  I  said.  "If  you're  overheated 
all  the  more  certain  you'll  get  a  chill.  Don't  stand 
talking,  go  at  once." 


136  NURSE  HEATHERDALE'S  STORY. 

He  went  off,  and  I  was  beginning  to  pour  out  the 
tea,  which  had  been  kept  back  all  this  time,  when, 
as  I  lifted  the  teapot  in  my  hand  I  almost  dropped 
it,  nearly  scalding  Miss  Baby  who  was  sitting  close 
by  me,  so  startled  was  I  by  a  sudden  terrible  scream 
from  Miss  Lally ;  and,  as  I  have  said  before,  anything 
like  Miss  Lally's  screams  I  never  did  hear  in  any 
nursery.  Besides  which,  once  she  was  started,  there 
was  never  any  saying  when  she'd  leave  off. 

"Now,  whatever's  the  matter  with  you,  my  dear?" 
I  said,  but  it  was  little  use  talking  quietly  to  her. 
She  only  sobbed  something  about  "  poor  Francie  and 
nursie  scolding  him,"  and  then  went  on  with  her 
screaming  till  I  was  obliged  to  put  her  in  the  other 
room  by  herself  to  get  quiet. 

Of  all  the  party  Miss  Bess  and  Miss  Baby  were 
the  only  ones  who  did  justice  to  Mrs.  Brent's  tea- 
cakes  that  evening.  They  did  take  Miss  Lally's 
screaming  fits  quietly,  I  must  say,  which  was  a  good 
thing,  and  even  Master  Bevil  had  strong  nerves,  I 
suppose,  for  he  slept  on  sweetly  through  it  all,  poor 
dear.  For  myself,  I  was  out  and  out  upset  for  once, 
provoked  and  yet  sorry  too. 

I  went  up  to  Master  Francis  and  did  the  best  I 
could  for  him  to  prevent  his  taking  cold.  He  was  as 
sorry  as  could  be  by  this  time,  and  he  had  really  not 
meant  to  be  disobedient,  but  though  I  was  ready 
to  believe  him,  I  felt  much  afraid  that  this  new 
scrape  wouldn't  be  passed  over  very  lightly  by  his 


IN  DISGKACE   AGAIN.  137 

uncle  and  aunt.  After  a  while  Miss  Lally  quieted 
down,  partly,  I  think,  because  I  promised  her  she 
might  go  up  to  her  cousin  if  she  would  leave  off 
crying,  and  the  two  passed  the  evening  together  very 
soberly  and  sadly,  winding  the  fresh  skein  of  white 
woolSvhich  had  been  the  cause  of  all  the  trouble. 

After  all  Master  Francis  did  not  take  cold.  He 
came  down  to  breakfast  the  next  morning  looking 
pretty  much  as  usual,  though  I  could  see  he  was 
uneasy  in  his  mind.  Miss  Lally  too  was  feeling 
rather  ashamed  of  her  screaming  fit  the  night  before, 
for  she  was  growing  a  big  girl  now,  old  enough  to 
understand  that  she  should  have  more  self-command. 
Altogether  it  was  rather  a  silent  nursery  that  morn- 
ing, for  Miss  Bess  was  concerned  for  her  cousin 
too. 

I  had  quite  meant  to  try  to  see  my  lady  before 
anything  was  said  to  Master  Francis.  But  she  was 
tired  and  later  of  getting  up  than  usual,  and  I  didn't 
like  to  disturb  her.  Sir  Hulbert,  I  found,  had  gone 
out  early  and  would  not  be  in  till  luncheon-time,  so 
I  hoped  I  would  still  have  my  chance. 

I  hardly  saw  the  elder  children  till  their  dinner 
time.  It  was  an  extra  long  morning  of  lessons  with 
Miss  Kirstin,  for  it  was  still  raining,  and  on  wet  days 
she  sometimes  helped  them  with  what  they  had  to 
learn  by  themselves. 

The  three  hurried  up  together  to  make  themselves 
tidy  before  going  down  to  the  dining-room,  and  I 


138  NURSE  HEATHERDALE'S  STORY. 

just  saw  them  for  a  moment.  Master  Bevil  was 
rather  fractious,  and  I  was  feeling  a  little  worried 
about  him,  so  that  what  had  happened  the  night 
before  was  not  quite  so  fresh  in  my  mind  as  it  had 
been;  but  I  did  ask  Miss  Lally,  who  came  to  me  to 
have  her  hair  brushed,  if  she  had  seen  her  mamma, 
and  if  my  lady  was  feeling  rested. 

"She's  getting  up  for  luncheon,"  was  the  child's 
answer,  "  but  I  haven't  seen  her.  Mrs.  Brent  told  us 
she  was  very  tired  last  night.  Mrs.  Brent  waited  up 
to  tell  mamma  Francie  had  come  in." 

After  luncheon  the  two  young  ladies  came  up 
together.  I  looked  past  them  anxiously  for  Master 
Francis. 

"No,"  said  Miss  Lally,  understanding  my  look, 
"he's  not  coming.  He's  gone  to  papa's  room,  and 
papa  and  mamma  are  both  there." 

My  heart  sank  at  the  words. 

"Mamma's  coming  up  to  see  baby  in  a  little 
while,"  said  Miss  Bess.  "  She  was  so  tired,  poor 
little  mamma,  she  only  woke  in  time  to  dress  for 
luncheon,  and  papa  said  he  was  very  glad." 

Miss  Lally  came  round  and  whispered  to  me. 

"  Nurse,"  she  said,  *'  may  I  go  up  to  the  attic  ?  I 
want  to  knit  a  great  lot  to-day,  and  if  I  stayed  down 
here  mamma  would  see." 

"  Very  well,  my  dear,"  I  said.  "  Only  be  sure  to 
come  downstairs  if  you  feel  chilly." 

There  was  really  no  reason,  now  that  she  had  a 


IN  DISGRACE   AGAIN.  139 

room  of  her  own,  for  her  ever  to  sit  in  the  attic,  but 
she  had  taken  a  fancy  to  it,  I  suppose,  and  off  she 
went. 

Miss  Bess  stood  looking  out  of  the  window,  in  a 
rather  idle  way  she  had. 

uOh  dear!"  she  said  impatiently;  "is  it  never 
going  to  leave  off  raining?  I  am  so  tired  of  not 
getting  out." 

"  Get  something  to  do,  my  dear,"  I  said.  "  Then 
the  time  will  pass  more  quickly.  It  won't  stop 
raining  for  you  watching  it,  you  know.  Weren't 
you  saying  something  about  the  schoolroom  books 
needing  arranging,  and  that  you  hadn't  had  time  to 
do  them?" 

Miss  Bess  was  in  a  very  giving-in  mood. 

"  Very  well,"  she  said,  moving  off  slowly.  "  I  sup- 
pose I  may  as  well  do  them.  But  I  need  somebody 
to  help  me ;  where's  Lally  ?  " 

"  Don't  disturb  her  yet  awhile,  poor  dear,"  I  said. 
"  She  does  so  want  to  get  on  with  the  work  I've  told 
you  about." 

Miss  Bess  stood  looking  uncertain.  Suddenly  an 
idea  struck  her. 

"  May  I  have  Baby  then  ?  "  she  asked.  "  She  could 
hold  up  the  books  to  me,  and  that's  about  all  the 
help  I  need,  really." 

I  saw  no  objection,  and  Miss  Baby  trotted  off  very 
proud,  Miss  Bess  leading  her  by  the  hand. 

The  nursery  seemed  very  quiet  the  next  half-hour 


140  NURSE  HEATHERDALE'S  STORY. 

or  so,  or  maybe  longer.  I  was  beginning  to  wonder 
when  my  lady  would  be  coming,  and  feeling  glad 
that  Master  Bevil,  who  had  just  wakened  up  from 
a  nice  sleep,  was  looking  quite  like  himself  again 
before  she  saw  him,  when  suddenly  the  door  burst 
open  and  Master  Francis  looked  in.  He  was  not 
crying,  but  his  face*  had  the  strained  white  look  I 
could  not  bear  to  see  on  it. 

"  Is  there  no  one  here  ?  "  he  said. 

Somehow  I  didn't  like  to  question  him,  grieved 
though  I  felt  at  things  going  wrong  again. 

"  No,"  I  replied.  "  Miss  Bess  is  in  the  schoolroom 
with — "  then  it  suddenly  struck  me  that  my  lady 
might  be  coming  in  at  any  moment,  and  that  it 
might  be  better  for  Master  Francis  not  to  be  there. 
"  Miss  Lally,"  I  went  on  quickly,  "  is  at  her  knitting 
in  the  attic,  if  you  like  to  go  to  her  there." 

He  turned  and  went.  Afterwards  he  told  me  that 
he  caught  sight  of  my  lady  coming  along  the  passage 
as  he  left  the  room,  and  that  he  hurried  upstairs  to 
avoid  her.  He  didn't  find  Miss  Lally  in  the  attic  as 
he  expected,  but  her  knitting  was  there  lying  on  the 
floor,  thrown  down  hurriedly,  and  though  she  had 
not  forgotten  to  spread  out  the  clean  towel  as  usual, 
in  her  haste  she  hadn't  noticed  that  the  newly-wound 
ball  of  white  wool  had  rolled  some  distance  away 
from  the  half-finished  boot  and  the  pins. 

Afterwards  I  will  tell  what  happened  to  Master 
Francis,  up  there  by  himself  in  the  attic. 


IN   DISGRACE   AGAIN.  141 

• 

To  make  all  clear,  I  may  here  explain  why  he 
had  not  found  Miss  Lally  in  her  nook.  The  book- 
tidying  in  the  schoolroom  had  gone  on  pretty  well, 
but  after  a  bit,  though  Miss  Baby  did  her  best,  Miss 
Bess  found  the  want  of  some  one  who  could  read  the 
titles,  and  she  ran  upstairs  to  beg  Miss  Lally  to  come 
for  a  few  minutes.  The  few  minutes  turned  into  an 
hour  or  more,  for  the  young  ladies,  just  like  children 
as  they  were,  came  across  some  old  favourites  in  their 
tidying,  and  began  reading  out  bits  here  and  there 
to  each  other.  And  then  to  please  Miss  Baby  they 
made  houses  and  castles  of  the  books  on  the  floor, 
which  she  thought  a  beautiful  new  game,  so  that 
Miss  Lally  forgot  about  her  knitting,  while  feeling, 
so  to  say,  at  the  back  of  her  mind  quite  easy  about  it, 
thinking  she  had  left  it  safely  lying  on  the  clean 
cloth. 

They  were  both  so  much  taken  up  with  what  they 
were  about,  that  it  never  struck  them  to  wonder 
what  Master  Francis  was  doing  with  himself  all  the 
afternoon. 

My  lady  and  I  meanwhile  were  having  a  long 
talk  in  the  nursery.  It  had  been  as  I  feared,  Sir 
Hulbert  having  spoken  most  severely  to  the  boy,  and 
my  lady  having  said  some  bitter  things,  which  already 
she  was  repenting,  more  especially  when  I  was  able 
to  explain  that  Master  Francis  had  really  not  been 
so  distinctly  disobedient  as  had  seemed  the  case. 

"  We  must  try  and  put  it  right  again,  I  suppose," 


142  NURSE  HEATHERDALE'S  STORY. 

she  said  rather  sadly,  as  she  was  leaving  the  room. 
"  I  wish  I  didn't  take  up  things  so  hotly  at  the  time, 
but  I  was  really  frightened  as  well  as  angry.  Still 
Sir  Hulbert  would  not  have  spoken  so  strongly  if  it 
hadn't  been  for  me." 

This  was  a  great  deal  for  my  lady  to  say,  and  I 
felt  honoured  by  her  confidence.  I  began  to  be  more 
hopeful  again,  and  tried  to  set  out  the  tea  rather 
nicer  than  usual  to  cheer  them  up  a  little. 


CHAPTER  XII. 

LOST. 

THE  three  young  ladies  came  in  together,  Miss 
Baby  looking  very  important,  but  calling  out  for  her 
tea. 

"  It's  quite  ready,  my  dear,"  I  said.  "  But  where's 
Master  Francis  ?  " 

"7  don't  know,"  said  Miss  Bess.  "  I  haven't  seen 
him  all  the  afternoon." 

I  turned  to  Miss  Lally. 

"  He  went  up  to  sit  with  you,  my  dear,  in  the 
attic,"  I  said. 

"I  didn't  see  him,"  said  Miss  Lally,  and  then  she 
explained  how  Miss  Bess  had  fetched  her  down  ever 
so  long  ago.  "  I  dare  say  Francie's  in  his  own  room," 
she  went  on.  "  I'll  run  up  and  see,  and  I'll  look  in 
the  attic  too,  for  I  left  my  work  lying  about." 

She  ran  off. 

"  Nurse,"  said  Miss  Bess,  "  do  you  think  Francis 
got  a  very  bad  scolding?  You  saw  him,  didn't  you? 
Did  he  seem  very  unhappy  ?  " 

"  I'm  afraid  so,  my  dear,  but  I  think  it  will  come 
all  right  again.  I've  seen  your  mamma  since,  and 

143 


144 

she  quite  sees  now  that  he  didn't  really  mean  to  be 
disobedient." 

"  I  wish  you  had  told  mamma  that  before  they 
spoke  to  Francis,"  said  Miss  Bess,  who  I  must  say 
was  rather  a  Job's  comforter  sometimes. 

We  waited  anxiously  till  we  heard  Miss  Lally's 
footsteps  returning.  She  ran  in  alone,  looking  rather 
troubled. 

*'  He's  not  there,  not  in  his  own  room,  or  the  attic, 
or  nowhere,  but  he  must  have  been  in  the  attic,  for 
my  work's  gone." 

A  great  fear  came  over  me.  Could  the  poor  boy 
have  run  away  in  his  misery  at  having  again  angered 
his  uncle  and  aunt?  for  the  look  on  his  face  had 
been  strange,  when  he  glanced  in  at  the  nursery  door, 
asking  for  Miss  Lally.  Was  he  meaning  perhaps  to 
bid  her  good-bye  before  setting  off  in  some  wild  way? 
And  what  she  said  of  the  knitting  having  gone  made 
me  still  more  uneasy.  Had  he  perhaps  taken  it  with 
him  as  a  remembrance  ?  for  of  all  the  queer  mixtures 
of  old-fashionedness  and  childishness  that  ever  I 
came  across,  Master  Francis  was  the  strangest, 
though,  as  I  have  said,  there  was  a  good  deal  of  this 
in  all  the  children. 

I  got  up  at  Miss  Lally's  words.  Master  Bevil  was 
asleep,  luckily. 

"  You  go  on  with  your  tea,  my  dears,  there's  good 
children,"  I  said.  "  I  must  see  about  Master  Francis, 
he  must  be  somewhere  about  the  house.  He'd  never 


LOST.  145 

have  thought  of  going  out  again  in  such  weather," 
for  it  was  pouring  in  torrents. 

I  went  downstairs,  asking  everybody  I  met  if 
they  had  seen  him,  but  they  all  shook  their  heads, 
and  at  last,  after  searching  through  the  library  and 
the  big  drawing-rooms,  and  even  more  unlikely 
places,  I  got  so  frightened  that  I  made  bold  to  knock 
at  Sir  Hulbert's  study  door,  where  he  was  busy 
writing,  my  lady  working  beside  him. 

They  had  been  talking  of  Master  Francis  just 
before  I  went  in,  and  they  were  far  more  distressed 
than  annoyed  at  my  news,  my  lady  growing  quite 
pale. 

"  O  Hulbert !  "  she  exclaimed,  "  if  he  has  run  away 
it  is  my  fault." 

"  Nonsense,  Helen,"  he  said,  meaning  to  cheer  her. 
"The  boy  has  got  sense  and  good  feeling,  he'd  never 
risk  making  himself  ill  again.  And  where  would  he 
run  away  to  ?  He  couldn't  go  to  sea.  But  certainly 
the  sooner  we  find  him  the  better." 

He  went  off  to  speak  to  some  of  the  men,  while 
my  lady  and  I,  Mrs.  Brent  and  some  of  the  others, 
started  again  to  search  through  the  house.  We  did 
search,  looking  in  really  impossible  corners,  where  he 
couldn't  have  squeezed  himself  in.  Then  the  baby 
awoke,  and  I  had  to  go  to  him,  and  Miss  Bess  and 
Miss  Lally  took  their  turn  at  this  melancholy  game 
of  hide-and-seek,  but  it  was  all  no  use.  The  dull 
gray  afternoon  darkened  into  night,  the  rain  still 


146  NUKSE  HEAT  HERD  ALE'S   STOKY. 

pouring  down,  and  nothing  was  heard  of  the  missing 
boy.  Sir  Hulbert  at  last  left  off  pretending  not  to 
be  anxious.  He  had  his  strongest  horse  put  into  the 
dog-cart,  and  drove  away  to  the  town  to  give  notice 
to  the  police,  stopping  on  the  way  at  every  place 
where  it  was  the  least  likely  the  boy  could  have 
been  seen. 

He  didn't  get  back  till  eleven  o'clock.  My  lady 
and  Mrs.  Brent  and  me  were  waiting  up  for  him,  for 
Master  Bevil  was  sleeping  sweetly,  and  I  had  put 
the  nursery-maid  to  watch  beside  him.  The  young 
ladies,  poor  dears,  were  in  bed  too,  and,  as  is  happily 
the  way  with  children,  had  fallen  asleep  in  spite  of 
their  tears  and  sad  distress. 

We  knew  the  moment  we  saw  Sir  Hulbert  that 
he  had  no  good  tidings  to  give  us.  His  sunburnt 
face  looked  almost  white,  as  he  came  into  the  hall 
soaking  wet  and  shook  his  head. 

"  I  have  done  everything,  Nelly,"  he  said,  "  every- 
thing that  can  be  done,  and  now  we  must  try  to 
be  patient  till  some  news  comes.  It  is  impossible, 
everybody  says,  that  a  boy  like  him,  so  well  known 
in  the  neighbourhood  too,  could  disappear  without 
some  one  seeing  him,  or  that  he  could  remain  in 
hiding  for  long.  It  is  perfectly  extraordinary  that 
we  have  not  found  him  already,  and  somehow  I  can 
scarcely  believe  he  is  doing  it  on  purpose.  He  has 
such  good  feeling,  and  must  know  how  anxious  we 
should  be." 


LOST.  147 

Sir  Hulbert  was  standing  by  the  fire,  which  my 
lady  had  had  lighted  in  the  hall,  as  he  spoke.  He 
seemed  almost  thinking  aloud.  My  lady  crept  up  to 
him  with  a  look  on  her  face  I  could  not  bear  to  see. 

"Hulbert,"  she  said  in  a  low  voice,  "I  said  things 
to  him  enough  to  make  him  doubt  our  caring  at  all." 
And  then  she  broke  down  into  bitter  though  silent 
weeping. 

We  got  her  to  bed  with  difficulty.  There  was 
really  no  use  whatever  in  sitting  up,  and  who  knew 
what  need  for  strength  the  next  day  might  bring  ? 
Then  there  were  the  other  poor  children  to  think  of. 
So  by  midnight  the  house  was  all  quiet  as  usual.  I 
was  thankful  that  the  wind  had  fallen,  for  all  through 
the  evening  there  had  been  sounds  of  wailing  and 
sobbing,  such  as  stormy  weather  always  brings  at 
Treluan,  enough  to  make  you  miserable  if  there  was 
nothing  the  matter  —  the  rain  pattering  against  the 
window  like  cold  tiny  hands,  tapping  and  praying  to 
be  let  in. 

Sad  as  I  was,  and  though  I  could  scarcely  have 
believed  it  of  myself,  I  had  scarcely  laid  my  head 
down  before  I  too,  like  the  children,  fell  fast  asleep. 
I  was  dreaming,  a  strange  confused  dream,  which  I 
never  was  able  to  remember  clearly ;  but  it  was 
something  about  searching  in  the  smugglers'  caves 
for  Master  Francis,  followed  by  an  old  man,  who  I 
somehow  fancied  was  the  miser  baronet,  Sir  David. 
His  hair  was  snow  white,  and  there  was  a  confusion 


148  NURSE  HEATHERDALE'S  STORY. 

in  my  mind  of  thinking  it  like  Miss  Lally's  wool. 
Anyhow,  I  had  got  the  idea  of  whiteness  in  my  head, 
so  that,  when  something  woke  me  —  afterwards  I 
knew  it  was  the  sound  of  my  own  name — and  I 
opened  my  eyes  to  see  by  the  glimmer  of  the  night- 
light  what  seemed  at  first  a  shining  figure  by  my 
bed-side,  I  did  not  feel  surprised.  And  the  first 
words  I  said  were  "  white  as  wool." 

"  No,  no,"  said  Miss  Lally,  for  it  was  she,  in  her 
little  night-dress,  her  fair  hair  all  tumbling  over  her 
shoulders,  "  it  isn't  about  my  wool,  nurse,  please  wake 
up  quite.  It's  something  so  strange  —  such  a  queer 
noise.  Please  get  up  and  come  to  my  room  to  see 
what  it  is." 

Miss  Lally's  room  was  a  tiny  place  at  the  side  of 
the  nursery  nearest  the  tower,  though  not  opening 
on  to  the  tower  stair. 

I  got  up  at  once  and  crossed  the  day  nursery  with 
her,  lighting  a  candle  on  the  way.  But  when  we  got 
into  her  room  all  was  perfectly  silent. 

"  What  was  it  you  heard,  my  dear  ?  "  I  asked. 

"  A  sort  of  knocking,"  she  said,  "  and  a  queer  kind 
of  little  cry,  like  a  rabbit  caught  in  a  trap  when  you 
hear  it  a  long  way  off." 

"  It  must  have  been  the  wind  and  rain  again,"  I 
was  beginning  to  say,  but  she  stopped  me. 

"  Hush,  listen  ! "  she  said,  holding  up  her  little 
hand,  "  there  it  is  again." 

It  was  just  as  she  had  said,  and  it  seemed  to  come 
from  the  direction  of  the  tower. 


LOST.  149 

"  Isn't  it  like  as  if  it  was  from  Francie's  room  ?  " 
said  Miss  Lally,  shivering  a  little ;  "  and  yet  we  know 
he's  not  there,  nursie." 

But  something  was  there,  or  close  by,  and  some- 
thing living,  I  seemed  to  feel. 

"  Put  on  your  dressing-gown,"  I  said  to  the  little 
girl,  "  and  your  slippers,  and  we'll  go  up  and  see. 
You're  not  frightened,  dear  ?  " 

"  Oh  no  !  "  she  said.     "  If  only  it  was  Francie  !  " 

But  she  clung  to  my  hand  as  we  went  up  the  stair, 
leaving  the  nursery  door  wide  open,  so  as  to  hear 
Master  Bevil  if  he  woke  up. 

Master  Francis's  room  was  all  dark,  of  course,  and 
it  struck  very  chill  as  we  went  in,  the  candle  flicker- 
ing as  we  pushed  the  door  open.  It  seemed  so 
strange  to  see  the  empty  bed,  and  everything  unused 
about  the  room,  just  as  if  he  was  really  quite  away. 
We  stood  perfectly  still.  All  was  silent.  We  were 
just  about  leaving  the  room  to  go  to  the  attic  when 
the  faintest  breath  of  a  sound  seemed  to  come  again, 
I  couldn't  tell  from  where.  It  was  more  like  a  sigh 
in  the  air. 

"  Stop,"  said  Miss  Lally,  squeezing  my  hand,  and 
then  again  we  heard  the  muffled  taps,  much  more 
clearly  than  downstairs.  Miss  Lally 's  ears  were 
very  sharp. 

"  I  hear  talking,"  she  whispered,  and  before  I  knew 
what  she  was  about  she  had  laid  herself  down  on  the 
floor  and  put  her  ear  to  the  ground,  at  a  part  where 


150  NURSE  HEATHERDALE'S  STORY. 

there  was  no  carpet.  "  Nursie,"  she  went  on,  looking 
up  with  a  very  white  face  and  shining  eyes,  "it  is 
Francie.  He  must  have  felled  through  the  floor.  I 
can  hear  him  saying,  '  O  Lally !  O  Bess  !  Oh,  some- 
body come.' " 

I  stooped  down  as  she  had  done.  It  was  silent 
again;  but  after  a  moment  began  the  knocking  and 
a  sort  of  sobbing  cry ;  my  ears  weren't  sharp  enough 
to  make  it  into  words,  but  I  seized  the  first  thing 
that  came  to  hand,  I  think  it  was  the  candlestick, 
and  thumped  it  on  the  floor  as  hard  as  ever  I  could, 
calling  out,  close  down  through  the  boarding, 
"  Master  Francie,  we  hear  you." 

But  there  was  nothing  we  could  do  by  ourselves, 
and  we  were  losing  precious  time. 

"  Miss  Lally,"  I  said,  "  you  won't  be  frightened  to 
stay  here  alone ;  I'll  leave  you  the  candle.  Go  on 
knocking  and  calling  to  him,  to  keep  up  his  heart,  in 
case  he  can  hear,  while  I  go  for  your  papa." 

In  less  time  than  it  takes  to  tell  it,  I  had  roused 
Sir  Hulbert  and  brought  him  back  with  me,  my  lady 
following  after.  Nothing  would  have  kept  her  be- 
hind. We  were  met  by  eager  words  from  Miss  Lally. 

"  Papa,  nursie,"  she  cried,  "  I've  made  him  hear, 
and  I  can  make  out  that  he  says  something  about  the 
window." 

Without  speaking  Sir  Hulbert  strode  across  the 
room  and  flung  it  open.  Oh,  how  thankful  we  were 
that  the  wind  had  fallen  and  all  was  still. 


LOST.  151 

"  Francis,  my  boy,"  we  heard  Sir  Hulbert  shout  — 
he  was  leaning  out  as  far  as  ever  he  could  — "  Fran- 
cis, my  boy,  can  you  hear  me  ?  " 

Something  answered,  but  we  inside  the  room 
couldn't  distinguish  what  it  said,  but  in  another 
moment  Sir  Hulbert  turned  towards  us. 

"  He  says  something  about  the  cupboard  in  the 
attic,"  he  said.  "What  can  he  mean?  But  come  at 
once." 

He  caught  up  my  lady's  little  hand-lamp  and  led 
the  way,  we  three  following.  When  we  reached  the 
attic  he  went  straight  to  the  big  cupboard  I  have 
spoken  of.  The  doors  were  standing  wide  open.  Sir 
Hulbert  went  in,  but  came  out  again,  looking  rather 
blank. 

"  I  can  see  nothing,"  he  said.  "  I  fancied  he  said 
the  word  4  mouse,'  but  his  voice  had  got  so  faint." 

"If  you  knock  on  the  floor,"  I  began,  but  Miss 
Lally  stopped  me  by  darting  into  the  closet. 

"Papa,"  she  said,  "hold  the  light  here.  I  know 
where  the  mouse-hole  is." 

What  they  had  thought  a  mouse-hole  was  really 
a  hole  with  jagged  edges  cut  out  in  one  of  the  boards, 
which  you  could  thrust  your  hand  into.  Sir  Hulbert 
did  so,  beginning  to  see  what  it  was  meant  for,  and 
pulled.  A  trap-door,  cleverly  made,  for  all  that  it 
looked  so  roughly  done,  gave  way,  and  by  the  light 
of  the  lamp  we  saw  a  kind  of  ladder  leading  down- 
wards into  the  dark.  Sir  Hulbert  stooped  down  and 
leaned  over  the  edge. 


152  NURSE  HEATHERDALE'S  STORY. 

"  Francis,"  he  called,  and  a  very  faint  v  jice  —  we 
couldn't  have  heard  it  till  the  door  was  opened  — 
answered  — 

"  Yes,  I'm  here.     Take  care,  the  ladder's  broken." 

Luckily  there  was  another  ladder  in  the  attic. 
Sir  Hulbert  and  I  dragged  it  out,  and  managed  to 
slip  it  down  the  hole,  in  the  same  direction  as  the 
other.  We  were  so  afraid  it  would  be  too  short,  but 
it  wasn't.  My  lady  and  I  held  it  steady  at  the  top, 
while  Sir  Hulbert  went  down  with  the  lamp,  Miss 
Lally  holding  a  candle  beside  us. 

Sir  Hulbert  went  down  very  slowly,  not  knowing 
how  or  in  what  state  Master  Francis  might  be  lying 
at  the  foot.  Our  hearts  were  beating  like  hammers, 
for  all  we  were  so  quiet. 

First  we  heard  an  exclamation  of  surprise.  I 
rather  think  it  was  "  by  Jove  !  "  though  Sir  Hulbert 
was  a  most  particular  gentleman  in  his  way  of  speak- 
ing —  then  came  a  hearty  shout  — 

"  All  right,  he's  here,  no  bones  broken." 

"  Shall  I  come  down  ?  "  cried  my  lady. 

"I  think  you  may,"  Sir  Hulbert  answered,  "if 
you're  very  careful.  I'll  bring  the  light  to  the  foot 
of  the  ladder  again." 

When  my  lady  got  down,  Miss  Lally  and  I  strained 
our  ears  to  hear.  I  knew  the  child  was  quivering  to 
go  down  herself,  and  it  was  like  her  to  be  so  patient. 

Strange  were  the  words  that  first  reached  us. 

"  Auntie,  auntie !  "  we  heard  Master  Francis  say,  in 


SlB  HULBERT,   HOLDING  MASTER  FRANCIS  WITH  ONE   ARM  AND    THE    SlDB 

OP  THE  LADDER  WITH  THE  OTHER,  FOLLOWED.  — p.  153. 


LOST.  153 

his  poor  weak  voice.  "  It's  Old  Sir  David's  treasure  ! 
You  won't  be  poor  any  more.  Oh  !  I'm  so  glad  now 
I  fell  down  the  hole,  but  I  thought  I'd  die  before  I 
could  tell  any  one." 

Miss  Lally  and  I  stared  at  each  other.  Could  it 
be  true?  or  was  Master  Francis  off  his  head?  We 
had  not  long  to  wait. 

They  managed  to  get  him  up  —  after  all  it  was  not 
so  very  far  to  climb,  —  my  lady  coming  first  with  the 
lamp,  and  Sir  Hulbert,  holding  Master  Francis  with 
one  arm  and  the  side  of  the  ladder  with  the  other, 
followed,  for  the  boy  had  revived  wonderfully,  once 
he  knew  he  was  safe. 

My  lady  was  crying,  I  saw  it  the  moment  the  light 
fell  on  her  face,  and  as  soon  as  Master  Francis  was 
up  beside  us,  she  threw  her  arms  round  him  and 
kissed  him  as  never  before. 

"Oh!  my  poor  dear  boy,"  she  said,  "I  am  so 
thankful,  but  do  tell  us  how  it  all  happened." 

She  must  have  heard,  and  indeed  seen  something 
of  the  strange  discovery  that  had  been  made,  but  for 
the  moment  I  don't  think  there  was  a  thought  in  her 
heart  except  thankfulness  that  he  was  safe. 

Before  Master  Francis  could  answer,  Sir  Hulbert 
interrupted. 

"  Better  not  ask  him  anything  for  a  minute  or 
two,"  he  said.  "  Nurse,  you  will  find  my  brandy-flask 
downstairs  in  the  study.  He'd  better  have  a  little 
mixed  with  water ;  and  ring  the  bell  as  you  pass  to 


154  NURSE  HEATHERDALE'S  STORY. 

waken  Crooks,  and  some  one  must  light  the  fire  in 
Francis's  room." 

I  was  back  in  five  minutes  with  what  was  wanted ; 
and  then  I  found  Miss  Lally  having  her  turn  at 
petting  her  cousin.  As  soon  as  he  had  had  a  little 
brandy  and  water  we  took  him  down  to  the  nursery, 
where  the  fire  was  still  smouldering,  Sir  Hulbert 
carefully  closing  the  trap-door  as  it  had  been  before, 
and  then  following  us  downstairs. 

Once  in  the  nursery,  anxious  though  we  were  to 
get  him  to  bed,  it  was  impossible  not  to  let  him  tell 
something  of  what  had  happened.  It  began  by  a  cry 
from  Miss  Lally. 

"  Why,  Francie,  you've  got  my  knitting  sticking 
out  of  your  pocket.  But  two  of  the  needles  has 
dropped  out,"  she  went  on  rather  dolefully. 

"  They'll  be  lying  down  in  that  room,"  said  Master 
Francis.  "  I  was  carrying  it  in  my  hand  when  I 
went  down  the  ladder  after  the  ball  of  wool,  and 
when  I  fell  I  dropped  it,  and  I  found  it  afterwards. 
It  was  the  ball  of  wool  that  did  it  all,"  and  then  he 
went  on  to  explain. 

He  had  not  found  Miss  Lally  in  the  attic,  for  Miss 
Bess  had  already  called  her  down,  but  seeing  her 
knitting  lying  on  the  floor,  he  had  sat  down  to  wait 
for  her,  thinking  she'd  be  sure  to  come  back.  Then 
he  noticed  that  the  ball  of  wool  must  have  rolled 
away  as  she  threw  her  work  down,  and  disappeared 
into  the  cupboard.  The  door  was  wide  open,  and  he 


LOST.  155 

traced  it  by  the  thread  in  his  hand  to  the  "  mouse- 
hole  "  in  the  corner,  down  which  it  had  dropped,  and 
putting  his  hand  through  to  see  if  he  could  feel  it,  to 
his  surprise  the  board  yielded.  Pulling  a  little  more, 
the  trap-door  opened,  and  he  saw  the  steps  leading 
downwards. 

It  was  not  dark  in  the  secret  room  in  the  daytime, 
for  it  had  two  narrow  slits  of  windows  hardly  to  be 
noticed  from  the  outside,  so,  with  a  boy's  natural 
curiosity,  he  determined  to  go  down.  He  hadn't 
strength  to  lift  the  trap-door  fully  back,  but  he  man- 
aged to  stick  it  open  enough  to  let  him  pass  through; 
he  had  not  got  down  many  steps,  however,  before  he 
heard  it  bang  to  above  him.  The  shock  may  have 
jarred  the  ladder,  which  was  a  roughly-made  rotten 
old  thing.  Anyway,  the  next  moment  Master  Fran- 
cis felt  it  give  way,  and  he  fell  several  feet  on  to  the 
floor  below.  He  was  bruised,  arid  a  little  stunned 
for  a  few  minutes,  but  he  soon  came  quite  to  himself, 
and,  still  full  of  curiosity,  began  to  look  about  him. 
The  place  where  he  was  was  only  a  sort  of  entrance 
to  a  larger  room,  which  was  really  under  his  own 
bedroom,  and  lighted,  as  I  have  said,  by  narrow  deep 
windows,  without  glass.  And  though  there  was  no 
door  between  the  two,  the  large  room  was  on  a  much 
lower  level,  and  another  ladder  led  down  to  it.  This 
time  he  was  very  careful,  and  got  to  the  bottom  with- 
out any  accident. 


156  NURSE  HEATHERDALE'S  STORY. 

Looking  about  him,  he  saw  standing  along  one  side 
of  the  room  a  collection  of  the  queerest-shaped  objects 
of  all  sizes  that  could  be  imagined,  all  wrapped  up 
in  some  kind  of  linen  or  canvas,  grown  gray  with  age 
and  dust. 


CHAPTER  XIII. 


"OLD  SIR  DAVID'S"  SECRET. 


AT  first  he  thought  the  queer-looking  things  he 
saw  must  be  odd-shaped  pieces  of  stone,  or  petrifac- 
tions, such  as  you  see  in  old-fashioned  rockeries  in 
gardens  sometimes.  But  when  he  went  close  up  to 
them  and  touched  one,  he  found  that  the  covering 
was  soft,  though  whatever  was  inside  it  was  hard. 
He  pulled  the  cloth  off  it,  and  saw  to  his  surprise 
that  it  was  a  heavy  silver  tea-urn,  though  so  black 
and  discoloured  that  it  looked  more  like  copper  or 
iron.  He  examined  two  or  three  other  things,  stand- 
ing by  near  it ;  they  also  proved  to  be  large  pieces  of 
plate  —  great  heavy  dinner-table  centres,  candelabra, 
and  such  things,  —  and,  child  though  he  was,  Master 
Francis  could  see  they  must  be  of  considerable  value. 
But  this  was  not  what  struck  him  the  most.  Like  a 
flash  of  lightning  it  darted  into  his  mind  that  there 
must  be  still  more  valuable  things  in  this  queer  store- 
room. 

"  I  do  believe,"  he  said  to  himself,  "  that  this  is  old 
Sir  David's  treasure  !  " 

He  was  right.  It  would  take  too  long  to  describe 
how  he  went  on  examining  into  all  these  strange  ob- 

157 


158  NURSE  HEATHERDALE'S  STORY. 

jects.  Several,  that  looked  like  well-stuffed  sacks, 
were  tied  up  so  tightly  that  he  couldn't  undo  the 
cord.  He  made  a  little  hole  in  one  of  them  with  his 
pocket-knife,  and  out  rolled,  to  his  delight,  ever  so 
many  gold  pieces ! 

"  Then,"  said  Master  Francis  to  us,  "  I  really  felt 
as  if  I  could  have  jumped  with  joy ;  but  I  thought 
I'd  better  fetch  Uncle  Hulbert  before  I  poked  about 
any  more,  and  I  went  up  the  short  ladder  again, 
meaning  to  go  back  the  way  I'd  come.  I  had  never 
thought  till  that  minute  that  I  couldn't  manage  it, 
but  the  long  ladder  was  broken  away  so  high  above 
my  head  that  I  couldn't  possibly  reach  up  to  it,  and 
the  bits  of  it  that  had  fallen  on  to  the  floor  were 
quite  rotten.  And  the  trap-door  seemed  so  close 
shut,  that  I  was  afraid  no  one  would  hear  me  how- 
ever I  shouted." 

He  did  shout  though,  poor  boy;  it  was  the  only 
thing  he  could  do.  The  short  ladder  was  a  fixture 
and  he  couldn't  move  it  from  its  place,  even  if  it  had 
been  long  enough  to  be  of  any  use.  After  a  while 
he  got  so  tired  of  calling  out,  that  he  seemed  to  have 
no  voice  left,  and  I  think  he  must  have  fallen  into  a 
sort  of  doze,  for  the  next  thing  he  remembered  was 
waking  up  to  find  that  it  was  quite  dark.  Then  he 
began  to  feel  terribly  frightened,  and  to  think  that 
perhaps  he  would  be  left  there  to  die  of  hunger. 

"  And  the  worst  of  it  was,"  he  said  in  his  simple  way, 
"  that  nobody  would  ever  have  known  of  the  treasure." 


"OLD  SIR  DAVID'S"  SECRET.  159 

He  called  out  again  from  time  to  time,  and  then 
a  new  idea  struck  him.  He  felt  about  for  a  bit  of 
wood  on  the  floor  and  set  to  work,  knocking  as  hard 
as  he  could.  Most  likely  he  fell  asleep  by  fits  and 
starts,  waking  up  every  now  and  then  to  knock  and 
call  out  again,  and  when  the  house  was  all  shut  up 
and  silent  for  the  night,  of  course  the  sound  he  made 
seemed  much  louder,  only  unluckily  we  were  all 
asleep  and  might  never  have  heard  it  except  for  dear 
little  Miss  Lally. 

It  was  not  till  after  Master  Francis  caught  the 
sound  of  our  knocking  back  in  reply  that  it  came  into 
his  head  to  make  his  way  close  up  to  the  windows 
—  luckily  it  was  not  a  very  dark  night  —  and  call 
through  them,  for  there  was  no  glass  in  them,  as  I 
have  said.  If  he  had  done  that  before  it  is  just 
possible  we  might  have  heard  him  sooner,  as  in  our 
searching  we  had  been  in  and  out  of  his  room,  above 
where  he  was,  several  times. 

There  is  not  much  more  for  me  to  tell.  Master 
Francis  was  ill  enough  to  have  to  stay  in  bed  for  a 
day  or  two,  and  at  first  we  were  a  little  afraid  that 
the  cold  and  the  terror,  and  the  strange  excitement 
altogether,  might  bring  on  another  illness.  But  it 
was  not  so.  I  think  he  was  really  too  happy  to  fall 
ill  again ! 

In  a  day  or  two  Sir  Hulbert  was  able  to  tell  him 
all  about  the  discovery.  It  was  kept  quite  secret 
till  the  family  lawyer  could  be  sent  for,  and  then  he 


160  NURSE  HEATHERDALE'S  STORY. 

and  my  lady  and  Sir  Hulbert  all  went  down  through 
the  trap-door  again  with  Mr.  Crooks,  the  butler,  to 
help  them,  and  everything  was  opened  out  and  ex- 
amined. It  was  a  real  miser's  hoard. 

Besides  the  plate,  which  was  really  the  least  valu- 
able, for  it  was  so  clumsy  and  heavy  that  a  good  deal 
of  it  was  only  fit  to  be  melted  down,  there  were  five 
or  six  sacks  filled  with  gold  and  some  with  silver 
coin.  Of  course  something  was  lost  upon  it  with  its 
being  so  old,  but  taking  it  all  in  all,  a  very  large 
sum  was  realised,  for  a  great  many  of  the  Penrose 
diamonds  had  been  hidden  away  also,  some  of  which 

—  the  most  valuable,  though  not  the  most  beautiful 

—  were  sold. 

Altogether,  though  it  didn't  make  Sir  Hulbert 
into  a  millionaire,  it  made  him  a  rich  man,  as  rich,  I 
think,  as  he  cared  to  be.  And,  strangely  enough,  as 
the  old  proverb  has  it,  "  it  never  rains  but  it  pours," 
only  two  or  three  years  after,  money  came  to  my  lady 
which  she  had  never  expected.  So  that  to  any  one 
visiting  Treluan,  as  it  now  is,  and  seeing  all  that  has 
been  done  by  the  family,  not  only  for  themselves,  but 
for  those  about  them,  —  the  church,  the  schools,  the 
cottages  on  the  estate  being  perfect  models  of  their 
kind  —  it  would  be  difficult  to  believe  there  had  ever 
been  want  of  money  to  be  wisely  and  generously 
spent. 

Dear,  dear,  how  many  years  ago  it  all  is  now ! 
There's  not  many  living,  if  any,  to  remember  the  ins 


"OLD  sm  DAVID'S"  SECKET.  161 

and  outs  as  I  do,  which  is  indeed  my  excuse  for 
having  put  it  down  in  my  own  way. 

Miss  Bess,  —  Miss  Penrose,  as  I  should  say,  —  Miss 
Lalage,  and  even  Miss  Augusta  have  been  married 
this  many  a  day ;  and  Lady  Helen,  Miss  Bess's  eldest 
daughter,  is  sixteen  past,  and  it  is  she  that  has 
promised  to  look  over  my  writing  and  correct  it. 

Master  Bevil,  Sir  Bevil  now,  for  Sir  Hulbert  did 
not  live  to  be  an  old  man,  has  two  fine  boys  of  his 
own,  whom  I  took  care  of  from  their  babyhood,  as  I 
did  their  father,  and  I'm  feeling  quite  lost  since 
Master  Ramsey  has  gone  to  school. 

And  of  dear  Master  Francis.  What  words  can  I 
say  that  would  be  enough?  He  is  the  only  one  of 
the  flock  that  has  not  married,  and  yet  who  could  be 
happier  than  he  is  ?  He  never  thinks  of  himself,  his 
whole  life  has  been  given  to  the  noblest  work.  His 
writings,  I  am  told,  though  they're  too  learned  for 
my  old  head,  have  made  him  a  name  far  and  wide. 
And  all  this  he  has  done  in  spite  of  delicate  health 
and  frequent  suffering.  He  seems  older  than  his 
years,  and  Sir  Bevil  is  in  hopes  that  before  long  he 
may  persuade  his  cousin  to  give  up  his  hard  London 
parish  and  make  his  regular  home  where  he  is  so 
longed  for,  in  Treluan  itself,  as  our  vicar,  and  indeed 
I  pray  that  it  may  be  so  while  I  am  still  here  to  see  it. 

Above  all,  for  my  dear  lady's  sake.  I  scarcely  like 
to  own  to  myself  that  she  is  beginning  to  fail,  for 
though  I  speak  of  myself  as  an  old  woman  and  feel 


162  NUKSE   HEATHEtiDALE's   STOKY. 

it  is  true,  yet  I  can't  bear  to  think  that  her  years  are 
running  near  to  the  appointed  threescore  and  ten,  for 
she  is  nine  years  older  than  I.  She  has  certainly 
never  been  the  same,  and  no  wonder,  since  Sir  Hul- 
bert's  death,  but  she  has  had  many  comforts,  and 
almost  the  greatest  of  them  has  been,  as  I  think  I 
have  said  before,  Master  Francis. 

******* 

Mother  and  my  aunts  want  me  to  add  on  a  few 
words  of  my  own  to  dear  old  nurse's  story.  She 
gave  it  me  to  read  and  correct  here  and  there,  more 
than  a  year  ago,  and  I  meant  to  have  done  so  at 
once.  But  for  some  months  past  I  hardly  felt  as  if 
I  had  the  heart  to  undertake  it,  especially  as  I  didn't 
like  bringing  back  the  remembrance  of  their  old 
childish  days  to  mother  and  my  aunts,  or  to  Uncle 
Bevil  and  Uncle  Francis,  as  we  always  call  him,  just 
in  the  first  freshness  of  their  grief  at  dear  grand- 
mamma's death.  And  I  needed  to  ask  them  a  few 
things  to  make  the  narrative  quite  clear  for  any  who 
may  ever  care  to  read  it. 

But  now  that  the  spring  has  come  back  again, 
making  us  all  feel  bright  and  hopeful  (we  have  all 
been  at  Treluan  together  for  Uncle  Bevil's  birthday), 
I  have  enjoyed  doing  it,  and  they  all  tell  me  that 
they  have  enjoyed  hearing  about  the  story  and 
answering  my  questions. 

Dear  grandmamma  loved  the  spring  so  !  She  was 
so  gentle  arid  sweet,  though  she  never  lost  her  quick 


"OLD  sm  DAVID'S"  SECRET.  163 

eager  way  either.  And  though  she  died  last  year, 
just  before  the  daffodils  and  primroses  were  coming 
out,  somehow  this  spring  the  sight  of  them  again  has 
not  made  us  feel  sad  about  her,  but  happy  in  the  best 
way  of  all. 

Perhaps  I  should  have  said  before  that  I  am 
"Nelly,"  "Miss  Bess's"  eldest  daughter.  Aunt 
Lalage  has  only  one  daughter,  who  is  named  after 
mother,  and  /  think  very  like  what  mother  must  have 
been  at  her  age. 

There  are  five  of  us,  and  Aunt  Augusta  has  two 
boys,  like  Uncle  Bevil. 

What  used  to  be  "  the  secret  room,"  where  our 
miser  ancestor  kept  the  hoard  so  strangely  discovered, 
has  been  joined,  by  taking  down  the  ceiling,  to  what 
in  the  old  days  was  Uncle  Francis's  room,  and  enters 
from  a  door  lower  down  the  tower  stair,  and  Uncle 
Bevil's  boys  have  made  it  into  what  they  call  their 
"  Museum."  We  are  all  very  fond  of  showing  it  to 
visitors,  and  explaining  how  it  used  to  be,  and  telling 
the  whole  story.  Uncle  Francis  always  maintains 
that  Aunt  Lally  saved  his  life,  and  though  she  gets 
very  red  when  he  says  so,  I  do  think  it  is  true.  She 
really  was  very  brave  for  such  a  little  girl.  If  I 
heard  knockings  in  the  night,  I  am  afraid  I  should 
hide  my  head  under  the  clothes,  and  put  my  fingers 
in  my  ears. 

Uncle  Francis  and  Aunt  Lally  always  do  seem 
almost  more  brother  and  sister  to  each  other  than 


164  NURSE    HE ATHERD ALE'S    STORY. 

any  of  the  rest ;  and  her  husband,  Uncle  Geoffrey, 
whom  next  to  Uncle  Francis  I  think  I  like  best  of  all 
my  uncles,  was  one  of  Ms  —  I  mean  Uncle  Francis's ; 
what  a  confusion  I'm  getting  into  —  best  friends  at 
college. 

When  I  began  this,  after  correcting  nurse's  manu- 
script, I  thought  nothing  would  be  easier  than  to 
write  a  story  in  the  most  beautiful  language,  but  I 
find  it  so  much  harder  than  I  expected  that  I  am  not 
sorry  to  think  that  there  is  really  nothing  more  of 
importance  to  tell.  And  I  must  say  my  admiration 
for  the  way  in  which  nurse  has  performed  her  task 
has  increased  exceedingly ! 


THE    END. 


'wLt  ib  tlit  mextttr,  little  girls?  '  Saiol 


P.  158 


LITTLE  MISS 

PEGGY: 


ONLY 

A 
SERY* 

BY 


MOLES  WORTH 


WITH  PICTURES  • 
BY 

WALTBR.*  CRANE/ 


L°ND0N' 
MACMILLAN'&C9. 


First  Edition  printed  (Crown  8vo)  1887. 
Reprinted  (Globe  8vo)  1888,  1891. 


tfje  ffiemorg  of 
E.  L. 


THE    DEAR   YOUNG   FRIEND 
WHO   SUGGESTED   ITS   NAME   TO   THIS   LITTLE   STORY 

AND    FROM   WHOSE    LATE    HOME 

SO   INTIMATELY   ASSOCIATED   WITH   HER 

THIS   DEDICATION  IS   MADE 

BINDON,  August,  1887 


Would  I  could  paint  the  serious  brow, 
The  eyes  that  look  the  world  in  face, 

Half-questioning,  doubting,  wondering  how 
This  happens  thus,  or  that  finds  place." 

—  My  Opposite  Neighbour. 


_^ 

~  tj^oy,  who 
to  himsijf  af 

Hi  \\*A  so 


pp  I  _*£ 

*:aj  of  room 

b^by  tkoucgh  h*  was. 
ling   to  do    during  TTIJA/, 


hi 


m 


5ii,  w/Kick  <5rown  -up  children  fhi 
ry.  Hz  KAC!  to  drum  wiHx  A 
cm  f^t*  Kand  a.nol  tKtn  in  thf 
kaud  to  di[3  Ki5  crctst  first*  in  nurjj's  cup  of 
and  m*t  in  H^IJ  Jw^  of  milk  to  5u  which 
d  thtn  woulo.  K^v*  bun  no  fun 
doin£  sJrhtr  if  ki  kcvdn'f  KaJ  to  stVztck  ^ 
<  w^y  Across;  a^nd  b^sidts  all  tkis  hi  fs.lt 
oblicd  now  &nd  tKtn  to  Jout  hiy  fstf  u|?.- 
for  £ 


PEGGY:  A  NURSERY  STORY. 

CHAPTER  I. 

A  BREAKFAST   PARTY. 

"  Henry  was  every  morning  fed 
With  a  full  mess  of  milk  and  bread." 

MARY  LAMB. 

"  No,"  said  Peggy  to  herself,  with  a  little  sigh, 
"the  naughty  clouds  has  covered  it  up  to-day.  I 
can't  see  it." 

"  Miss  Peggy,"  came  nurse's  voice  from  the  other 
side  of  the  room,  "your  breakfast's  waiting.  Come 
to  the  table,  my  dear,  and  stand  quiet  while  Master 
Thor  says  the  grace." 

Nurse  spoke  kindly,  but  she  meant  what  she  said. 
Peggy  turned  slowly  from  the  window  and  took 
her  place  among  her  brothers.  She,  and  Thorold 
and  Terence,  the  two  oldest  boys,  sat  opposite  nurse, 
and  beside  nurse  was  Baby,  who  required  a  great 
deal  of  room  to  himself  at  table,  baby  though  he 
was.  He  had  so  many  things  to  do  during  the  meal, 
you  see,  which  grown-up  children  think  quite  unnec- 
essary. He  had  to  drum  with  a  spoon,  first  in  one 

1 


Z  PEGGY:  A  NURSERY  STORY. 

fat  hand  and  then  in  the  other;  he  had  to  dip  his 
crust  first  in  nurse's  cup  of  tea  and  next  in  Hal's  jug 
of  milk  to  see  which  tasted  best,  and  there  would 
have  been  no  fun  in  doing  either  if  he  hadn't  had  to 
stretch  a  long  way  across ;  and  besides  all  this  he 
felt  really  obliged  now  and  then  to  put  his  feet  upon 
the  table  for  a  change,  one  at  a  time,  of  course.  For 
even  he,  clever  as  he  was,  could  not  have  got  both 
together  out  of  the  bars  of  his  chair  without  toppling 
over.  Nurse  had  for  some  time  past  been  speaking 
about  beginning  "  to  break  Master  Baby  in,"  but  so 
far  it  had  not  got  beyond  speaking,  and  she  contented 
herself  with  seating  him  beside  her  and  giving  him 
a  good  quarter  of  the  table  to  himself,  the  only  objec- 
tion to  which  was  that  it  gave  things  in  general  a 
rather  lopsided  appearance. 

At  the  two  ends  sat  Baldwin  and  Hal.  Hal's  real 
name,  of  course,  was  Henry,  though  he  was  never 
called  by  it.  Baldwin,  on  the  contrary,  had  no  short 
name,  partly  perhaps  because  mamma  thought  "  Bal- 
die  "  sounded  so  ugly,  and  partly  because  there  was 
something  about  Baldwin  himself  which  made  one  not 
inclined  to  shorten  his  name.  It  suited  him  so  well, 
for  he  was  broad  and  comfortable  and  slow.  He  was 
never  in  a  hurry,  and  he  gave  you  the  feeling  that 
you  needn't  be  in  a  hurry  either.  There  was  plenty 
of  time  for  everything,  for  saying  the  whole  of  his 
name  as  well  as  for  everything  else. 

That  made    a   lot   of   brothers,   didn't  it?     Five, 


A  BREAKFAST   PARTY.  3 

counting  baby,  and  to  match  them,  or  rather  not  to 
match  them  —  for  five  and  one  are  not  a  match  at  all 
—  only  one  little  girl!  She  wondered  about  it  a 
good  deal,  when  she  had  nothing  else  more  interest- 
ing to  wonder  about.  It  seemed  so  very  badly  man- 
aged that  she  should  have  five  brothers,  and  that  the 
five  brothers  should  only  have  one  sister  each.  It 
wasn't  always  so,  she  knew.  The  children  at  the 
back  had  plenty  of  both  brothers  and  sisters ;  she 
had  found  that  out  already.  But  I  must  not  begin 
just  yet  about  the  children  at  the  back;  you  will 
hear  about  them  in  good  time. 

There  was  a  nice  bowl  of  bread-and-milk  at  each 
child's  place,  and  as  bread-and-milk  is  much  better 
hot  than  cold,  it  was  generally  eaten  up  quickly. 
But  this  morning,  even  after  the  grace  was  said,  and 
the  four  brothers  who  weren't  baby  had  got  on  very 
well  with  theirs,  Peggy  sat,  spoon  in  hand,  gazing 
before  her  and  not  eating  at  all. 

"What's  the  matter,  Miss  Peggy?"  said  nurse, 
when  she  had  at  last  made  Baby  understand  that  he 
really  wasn't  to  try  to  put  his  toes  into  her  tea-cup, 
which  had  struck  him  suddenly  as  a  very  beautiful 
thing  to  do ;  "  you've  not  begun  to  eat.  Are  you 
waiting  for  the  sugar  or  the  salt,  or  can't  you  fix 
which  you  want  this  morning  ?  " 

For  there  was  a  very  nice  and  interesting  rule  in 
that  nursery  that  every  morning  each  child  might 
choose  whether  he  or  she  would  have  salt  or  sugar 


4  PEGGY:  A  NURSERY  STORY. 

in  the  bread-and-milk.  The  only  thing  was  that  they 
had  to  be  quick  about  choosing,  and  that  was  not 
always  very  easy. 

Peggy  looked  up  when  nurse  spoke  to  her. 

"Peggy  wasn't  'toosing,"  she  said.  Then  she 
grew  a  little  red.  "  I  wasn't  'toosing,"  she  went  on. 
For  Peggy  was  five  —  five  a  good  while  ago  —  and 
she  wanted  to  leave  off  baby  ways  of  talking.  "I 
was  wondering." 

"  Well,  eat  your  breakfast,  and  when  you've  got 
half-way  down  the  bowl  you  can  tell  us  what  you 
were  wondering  about,"  said  nurse. 

Peggy's  spoon,  already  laden,  continued  its  journey 
to  her  mouth.  But  when  it  got  there,  and  its  con- 
tents were  safely  deposited  between  her  two  red  lips, 
she  gave  a  little  cry. 

"  Oh  !  "  she  said,  "  it  doesn't  taste  good.  There's 
no  salt  or  sugar." 

"  'Cos  you  didn't  put  any  in,  you  silly  girl,"  said 
Thor.  "  I  saw,  but  I  thought  it'd  be  a  good  lesson. 
People  shouldn't  wonder  when  they're  eating." 

"  Peggy  wasn't  eating ;  she  was  only  going  to  eat," 
said  Terry.  "Never  mind,  Peg-top.  Thor  shan't 
tease  you.  Which'll  you  have  ?  Say  quick,"  and  he 
pulled  forward  the  sugar-basin  and  the  salt-cellar  in 
front  of  his  sister. 

"  Sugar,  pelease,"  said  Peggy.  "  It's  so  told  this 
morning." 

At  this  Thor  burst  out  laughing. 


A   BREAKFAST    PARTY.  5 

"What  a  Peggy-speech,"  he  said.  "Sugar's  no 
warmer  than  salt." 

"  Yes,"  said  Baldwin,  solemnly,  from  the  other  end 
of  the  table.  "'Tis.  There's  sugar  in  toffee  and 
in  jam,  and  they're  hot,  leastwise  they're  hot  to  be 
made.  And  there's  salt  in  ices,  for  mamma  said 
they're  made  with  salt." 

"What  rubbish!"  said  Thor.  "Nurse,  isn't  it 
rubbish  ?  And  when  did  you  ever  see  ices,  I'd  like 
to  know,  Baldwin  ?  " 

"I  did,"  Baldwin  maintained.  "  Onst.  But  I'll 
not  tell  you  when,  if  you  say  rubbish." 

"  It  is  rubbish  all  the  same,  and  I'll  prove  it,"  said 
Thor.  "  You  know  that  nice  smooth  white  sugar  on 
the  top  of  bridescake  ?  —  well,  they  ice  that  to  put  it 
on  —  I  know  they  do.  Don't  they,  nurse  ?  " 

"They  call  it  icing,  to  be  sure,"  nurse  replied. 
"  But  that's  no  proof  that  ices  themselves  mayn't  be 
made  with  salt,  Master  Thor,  for  when  you  come  to 
think  of  it,  ices  have  sugar  in  them." 

"  To  be  sure  they  have,"  Thor  cried,  triumphantly. 
"Nurse  has  proved  it  —  that  sugar's  no  warmer  than 
salt,"  which  was  not  what  nurse  had  intended  to  say 
at  all. 

But  now  Peggy,  who  all  this  time  had  been  steadily 
eating,  looked  up  again. 

"Peggy  was  wondering,"  she  said,  "what's  clouds. 
Is  clouds  alive  ?  " 

Thor  was  all  ready  with  his  "  you  silly  girl  "  again, 
but  this  time  Teny  was  before  him. 


6  PEGGY:  A  NURSEKY  STORY. 

"  They  can't  be  alive,"  he  said.  "  They've  got  no 
hands,  or  feet,  or  mouths,  and  noses,  and  eyes, 
and—" 

"  They  has  noses,"  said  Peggy,  eagerly.  "  Peggy's 
seen  them,  and  they  has  wings  —  the  little  ones  has 
wings,  they  fly  so  fast.  And  p'raps  they  has  got 
proper  faces  on  their  other  sides,  to  look  at  the  sun 
with.  I've  seen  shiny  bits  of  the  other  sides  turned 
over." 

"Yes,"  said  Baldwin,  solemnly  again,  as  if  that 
settled  it,  "  so  has  I." 

"  But  they're  not  alive,  Peggy,  they're  really  not. 
They  fly  because  the  wind  blows  them,"  said  Ter- 
ence. 

"  Oh  !  "  said  Peggy,  with  a  deep-drawn  breath,  "  I 
see.  Then  if  we  all  bio  wed  very  hard  at  the  win- 
dow, if  we  all  blowed  together,  couldn't  we  blow 
them  away  ?  I  do  so  want  to  blow  them  away  when 
they  come  over  my  hills." 

But  when  she  had  said  this  she  grew  very  red, 
just  as  if  she  had  told  something  she  had  not  meant 
to  tell,  and  if  any  one  had  looked  at  her  quite  close 
they  would  have  seen  that  there  were  tears  in  her 
eyes.  Fortunately,  however,  no  one  had  noticed  her 
last  words,  for  Thorold  and  Terence  too  had  burst 
out  laughing  at  the  beginning  of  her  speech. 

"Fancy  us  all  blowing  out  of  the  window  to- 
gether," they  said.  And  they  began  puffing  out 
their  cheeks  and  pretending  to  blow  very  hard,  which 


A   BREAKFAST   PARTY.  7 

made  them  look  so  funny  that  Peggy  herself  burst 
out  laughing  too. 

"  I'll  tell  you  what,''  said  Thor,  when  they  were 
tired  of  laughing,  "  that  reminds  me  of  soap-bubbles, 
we  haven't  had  any  for  such  a  time.  Nurse,  will 
you  remember  to  let  us  have  them  the  first  wet  half- 
holiday  ?  Mamma'll  let  us  if  you  will." 

"And  the  pipes?"  said  nurse.  "There  was  six 
new  got  the  last  time,  and  they  were  to  last,  certain 
sure  till  the  next  time,  and  then  —  " 

"  Oh  I  know,"  said  Thor,  "  we  took  them  to  school 
and  never  brought  them  back.  Never  mind  —  we'll 
get  some  more  from  old  Mother  Whelan.  She  always 
keeps  lots.  We'll  keep  our  halfpennies  for  two  Sat- 
urdays—  that'll  do.  But  we  must  be  going,  Terry 
and  Baldwin.  Tm  all  ready." 

And  he  jumped  up  as  he  spoke,  and  pulled  his 
satchel  of  books  from  under  his  chair,  where  he  had 
put  them  to  be  all  ready.  Baldwin  slowly  got  down 
from  his  place,  for  he  was  not  only  broad,  but  his 
legs  were  very  short,  and  came  up  to  nurse  to  be 
helped  on  with  his  little  overcoat,  while  Terence 
began  rushing  about  the  room  in  a  fuss,  looking  for 
one  of  his  books,  which  as  usual  couldn't  be  found  at 
the  last  minute. 

"I  had  it  just  before  breakfast,  I'm  sure  I  had," 
he  went  on  repeating.  "  I  haven't  finished  learning 
it,  and  I  meant  to  look  it  over.  Oh  dear,  what  shall 
I  do?" 


8  PEGGY  :   A   NURSERY   STORY. 

The  nursery  party  was  too  accustomed  to  Terry's 
misfortunes  to  be  much  upset  by  them.  Peggy 
sat  still  for  a  moment  or  two  considering.  Then  she 
spoke. 

"  Terry,"  she  said,  "  look  in  Baby's  cot." 

Off  flew  Terence,  returning  in  triumph,  grammar 
in  hand. 

"  I'll  learn  it  on  the  way  to  school.  How  did  you 
know  it  was  there,  Peggy?" 

"I  sawed  you  reaching  over  to  kiss  Baby  when 
you  corned  in  to  ask  nurse  for  a  new  shoe-lace  this 
morning,"  said  Peggy,  with  great  pride. 

"  Good  girl,"  said  Terence,  as  he  slammed  the 
door  and  rushed  downstairs  to  overtake  his  two 
brothers. 

The  nursery  seemed  very  quiet  when  the  three 
big  boys  had  gone.  Quiet  but  not  idle ;  there  was 
always  a  great  deal  to  do  first  thing  of  a  morning, 
and  Peggy  had  her  own  share  of  the  doing  to  see  to. 
She  took  off  her  own  breakfast  pinafore  and  put  on 
a  quite  clean  one  —  one  that  looked  quite  clean  any- 
way, just  as  if  it  had  never  been  on,  even  though  it 
had  really  been  used  two  or  three  times.  Peggy 
called  it  her  "prayers  pinafore,"  and  it  always  lasted 
a  whole  week,  as  it  was  only  worn  to  go  down  to 
the  dining-room  for  five  or  ten  minutes.  Then  she 
washed  her  hands  and  stood  still  for  nurse  to  give  a 
tidying  touch  to  her  soft  fair  hair,  though  it  really 
didn't  need  it,  —  Peggy's  hair  never  looked  messy,  — 


A   BREAKFAST   PAETY.  9 

and  then  she  took  off  Hal's  over  pinafore  which  he 
wore  on  the  top  of  his  blouse  at  meal  times,  and 
helped  him  to  wash  his  hands,  by  which  time  nurse 
and  baby  were  also  ready,  and  the  little  procession 
set  off  on  their  journey.  If  the  prayers  bell  had  not 
sounded  yet,  or  did  not  sound  as  they  made  their 
way  down,  nurse  would  stop  at  mamma's  door  and 
tap,  and  the  answer  was  sure  to  be  "  Come  in." 
Then  nurse  would  go  on  downstairs  with  Baby,  and 
Peggy  and  Hal  would  trot  in  to  see  mamma,  and 
wait  a  moment  or  two  till  she  was  ready.  She  was 
almost  always  nearly  ready,  unless  she  was  very, 
very  tired ;  and  in  that  case  she  would  tell  them  to 
go  downstairs  and  come  up  and  see  her  again  after 
prayers,  as  she  was  going  to  have  breakfast  in  bed. 
They  rather  liked  these  days,  though  of  course  they 
were  sorry  for  mamma  to  be  so  tired,  but  it  was  very 
interesting  to  watch  her  having  her  breakfast,  and 
generally  one  or  two  dainty  bits  of  toast  and  marma- 
lade would  find  their  way  to  the  two  little  mouths. 

It  was  only  since  last  winter  that  mamma  had 
been  so  often  tired  and  not  able  to  get  up  early. 
Before  then  she  used  always  to  come  up  to  the 
nursery  to  see  her  six  children  at  breakfast,  and 
prayers  were  early  enough  for  the  three  boys  to  stay 
for  them,  instead  of  having  them  at  school.  For 
mamma  was  not  at  all  a  "  lazy "  mother,  as  you 
might  think  if  I  did  not  explain.  But  last  winter 
she  had  been  very  ill  indeed,  so  ill  that  papa  looked 


10          PEGGY:  A  NURSERY  STORY. 

dreadfully  unhappy,  and  the  boys  had  to  take  off 
their  boots  downstairs  so  as  not  to  make  any  noise 
when  they  passed  her  door,  and  the  days  seemed 
very  long  to  Peggy  and  Hal,  worst  to  Peggy  of 
course,  for  Hal  was  still  so  little  that  almost  all  his 
life  belonged  to  the  nursery.  It  was  during  that 
time  that  Peggy  first  found  out  the  white  spot  on 
the  hill,  which  I  am  going  to  tell  you  about,  for  she 
used  to  climb  up  on  the  window-sill  and  sit  there 
looking  out  at  whatever  there  was  to  see  for  hours 
at  a  time. 

This  morning  mamma  was  evidently  not  tired, 
for  just  as  the  children  got  to  the  landing  on  to 
which  her  door  opened,  out  she  came. 

"  Well,  darlings,"  she  said,  "  there  you  are  !  Have 
the  boys  got  off  to  school  all  rightly,  nurse  ?  " 

"  Oh  yes,  ma'am,"  nurse  was  beginning,  but  Peggy 
interrupted  her. 

"  Terry  loosed  his  book,  mamma  dear,  and  Peg  — 
/founded  it;  I  knewed  where  it  was  'cos  I  used  my 
eyes  like  you  said." 

"  That  was  a  very  good  thing,"  said  mamma.  She 
had  talked  to  Peggy  about  using  her  eyes  a  good 
deal,  for  Peggy  had  rather  a  trick  of  going  to  sleep 
with  her  eyes  open,  like  many  children,  and  it  be- 
comes a  very  tiresome  trick  if  it  isn't  cured,  and 
makes  one  miss  a  great  many  chances  of  being  useful 
to  others,  and  of  enjoying  pleasant  things  one's  self. 
"  Poor  Terry  —  I  wish  he  wasn't  so  careless.  Where 
was  his  book  this  time  ?  " 


A   BREAKFAST   PARTY.  11 

"In  such  a  funny  place,  mamma  dear,"  said 
Peggy.  "In  Baby's  cot,"  and  at  the  sound  of  his 
name  Baby  crowed,  which  made  both  Peggy  and 
Hal  burst  out  laughing,  so  that  mamma  had  to  hold 
their  hands  firmly  to  prevent  their  tumbling  down 
stairs. 

After  prayers  were  over  nurse  took  Baby  and 
Hal  away,  but  papa  said  Peggy  might  stay  for  a  few 
minutes. 

"I've  scarcely  seen  you  the  last  day  or  two,  old 
woman,"  he  said ;  "  you  were  fast  asleep  when  I 
came  home.  What  have  you  been  about?  " 

"  About,"  Peggy  repeated,  looking  puzzled. 

"  Well  —  what  have  you  been  doing  with  your- 
self ?  "  he  said  again. 

"I've  been  doing  nothing  with  myself"  Peggy 
replied,  gravely.  "  I've  done  my  lessons  and  my 
sewing,  and  I've  used  my  eyes." 

"Well,  and  isn't  all  that  yourself?"  asked  papa, 
who  was  rather  a  tease.  "  You've  done  your  sewing 
with  your  fingers  and  your  lessons  with  your  mind, 
and  you've  used  your  eyes  for  both — mind,  fingers, 
eyes  —  those  are  all  parts  of  yourself." 

Peggy  spread  out  her  two  hands  on  the  table  and 
looked  at  the  ten  pink  fingers. 

"  Them's  my  fingers,"  she  said,  "  but  I  don't  know 
where  that  other  thing  is  —  that  what  thinks.  I'd 
like  to  know  where  it  is.  Papa,  can't  you  tell  me  ?  " 

There   came   a   puzzled   look   into   her  soft  gray 


12          PEGGY:  A  NURSERY  STORY. 

eyes  —  mamma  knew  that  look ;  when  it  stayed  long 
it  was  rather  apt  to  turn  into  tears. 

"Arthur,"  she  said  to  Peggy's  papa,  "you're  too 
fond  of  teasing.  Peggy  dear,  nobody  can  see  that 
part  of  you;  there  are  many  things  we  can't  ever 
see,  or  hear,  or  touch,  which  are  real  things  all  the 
same." 

Peggy's  face  lightened  up  again.  She  nodded  her 
head  softly,  as  if  to  say  that  she  understood.  Then 
she  got  down  from  her  chair  and  went  up  to  her 
father  to  kiss  him  and  say  good-bye. 

"  Going  already,  Peg !  "  he  said.  "  Don't  you  like 
papa  teasing  you  ?  " 

"  I  don't  mind,"  said  Peggy,  graciously ;  "  you're 
only  a  big  boy,  papa.  I'm  going  'cos  nurse  wants 
me  to  keep  Baby  quiet  while  she  makes  the  beds." 

But  when  she  got  round  to  the  other  side  of  the 
table  to  her  mother,  she  lingered  a  moment. 

"  Mamma,"  she  whispered,  "  it's  not  there  this 
morning  —  Peggy's  fairy  house.  It's  all  hided  up. 
Mamma  —  " 

"Well,  darling?" 

"  Are  you  sure  it'll  come  back  again  ?  " 

"  Quite  sure,  dear.  It's  only  hidden  by  the  clouds, 
as  I've  told  you  before.  You  know  you've  often 
been  afraid  it  was  gone,  and  it's  always  come  again." 

"Yes,  to  be  sure,"  said  Peggy.  "What  a  silly 
little  girl  I  am,  mamma  dear." 

And  she  laughed  her  own  little  gentle  laugh.     I 


A   BKEAKFAST   PARTY.  13 

can't  tell  how  it  was  that  Peggy's  little  laugh  used 
sometimes  to  bring  tears  to  her  mother's  eyes. 

When  she  got  up  to  the  nursery  again  she  found 
she  was  very  much  wanted.  Nurse  was  in  the  night 
nursery  which  opened  into  the  day  one,  and  looked 
out  to  the  back  of  the  house  just  as  the  other  looked 
to  the  front.  And  Baby  was  sitting  on  the  hearth- 
rug, with  Hal  beside  him,  both  seeming  far  from 
happy. 

"  Baby's  defful  c'oss,  Peggy,"  said  poor  Hal. 

And  Baby,  though  he  couldn't  speak,  pouted  out 
his  lips  and  looked  very  savage  at  Hal,  which  of 
course  was  very  unreasonable  and  ungrateful  of  him, 
as  Hal  had  been  doing  everything  he  could  to  amuse 
him,  and  had  only  objected  to  Baby  pulling  him 
across  the  floor  by  his  curls. 

"  Oh  Baby,"  said  Peggy,  "  that  isn't  good.  Poor 
Hal's  hair  —  see  how  you've  tugged  it." 

For  Baby  was  still  grasping  some  golden  threads 
in  his  plump  fists. 

"  Him  sinks  zem's  feaders,"  said  Hal,  apologeti- 
cally. He  was  so  fond  of  Baby  that  he  couldn't  bear 
any  one  to  say  anything  against  him  except  himself. 

"But  Baby  must  learn  hairs  isn't  feathers,"  said 
Peggy,  solemnly.  "  And  it  isn't  good  to  let  him  pull 
the  feathers  out  of  his  parrot  either,  Hal,"  she  con- 
tinued, "  for  some  day  he  might  have  a  live  parrot, 
and  then  it  would  be  cooel,  and  the  parrot  would 
bite  him  —  yes  it  would,  Baby." 


14          PEGGY:  A  NURSERY  STORY. 

This  was  too  much  for  Baby.  He  drew  the 
corner  of  his  mouth  down,  then  he  opened  it  wide, 
very  wide,  and  was  just  going  to  roar  when  Peggy 
threw  her  arms  round  him  and  kissed  him  vigorously. 

"He's  sorry,  Hal  —  dear  Baby  —  he's  so  very 
sorry.  Kiss  him,  Hal.  Let's  all  kiss  together,"  and 
the  three  soft  faces  all  met  in  a  bunch,  which  Baby 
found  so  amusing  that  instead  of  continuing  his 
preparations  for  a  good  cry,  he  thought  better  of  it, 
and  went  of!  into  a  laugh. 

"  That's  right,"  said  Peggy.  "  Now  if  you'll  both 
be  very  good  boys  I'll  tell  you  a  story.  Just  wait  a 
minute  till  I've  tooked  off  my  prayers  pinafore." 

She  jumped  up  to  do  so.  While  she  was  un- 
fastening it  her  eyes  moved  to  the  window;  she 
gave  a  little  cry  and  ran  forward.  The  day  was 
clearing  up,  the  sun  was  beginning  faintly  to  shine, 
and  the  clouds  were  breaking. 

"Mamma  was  right,"  exclaimed  Peggy,  joyfully; 
"  I  can  see  it  —  I  can  see  it !  I  can  see  my  white 
house  again,  my  dear  little  fairy  house." 

She  would  have  stayed  there  gazing  out  con- 
tentedly half  the  morning  if  her  little  brothers  had 
not  called  her  back. 

"  Feggy,"  said  Hal,  plaintively,  "  do  turn.  Baby's 
pulling  Hal's  'air  adain." 

"  Peggv's  coming,  dear,"  said  the  motherly  little 
voice. 

And  in  another  moment  they  were  settled  on  the 


nd  In  csnothir  moment 


on      £<y5  lAp— 
off  it'  too,  foT   iP  Was 

to 
of   h'lvn  ;    Hf^l  on  tKf    floor 

ir,   his   curly  ki&d 
Kis    5i  stirs    ^noixlolir 
andi   trustful    contmt 


A    BREAKFAST   PARTY.  15 

hearth-rug  —  Baby  on  Peggy's  lap  —  on,  arid  off  it 
too,  for  it  was  much  too  small  to  accommodate  the 
whole  of  him ;  Hal  on  the  floor  beside  her,  his  curly 
head  leaning  on  his  sister's  shoulder  in  blissful  and 
trustful  content. 


CHAPTER  II. 

THE  WHITE   SPOT   ON   THE  HILL. 

"  0  reader  !  had  you  in  your  mind 
Such  stores  as  silent  thought  can  bring, 
0  gentle  reader  !  you  would  find 
A  tale  in  everything. 
What  more  I  have  to  say  is  short, 
And  you  must  kindly  take  it : 
It  is  no  tale  ;  but,  should  you  think, 
Perhaps  a  tale  you'll  make  it." 

W.  WORDSWORTH. 

"  TELLING  stories,"  when  the  teller  is  only  five 
and  some  months  old,  and  the  hearers  one  and  a 
quarter  and  three,  is  rather  a  curious  performance. 
But  Peggy  was  well  used  to  it,  and  when  in  good 
spirits  quite  able  to  battle  with  the  difficulties  of 
amusing  Hal  and  Bab}?-  at  the  same  time.  And  these 
difficulties  were  not  small,  for,  compared  with  Baby, 
Hal  was  really  "  grown-up." 

It  is  all  very  well  for  people  who  don't  know  much 
about  tiny  children  to  speak  of  them  all  together,  up 
to  —  six  or  seven,  let  us  say  —  as  "  babies,"  but  we 
who  think  we  do  know  something  about  them,  can 
assure  the  rest  of  the  world  that  this  is  an  immense 
mistake.  One  year  in  nursery  arithmetic  counts  for 
ten  or  even  more  in  real  "  grown-up "  life.  There 

16 


THE   WHITE   SPOT   ON   THE   HILL.  17 

was  a  great  difference  between  Peggy  and  Hal  for 
instance,  but  a  still  greater  between  Hal  and  Baby, 
and  had  there  been  a  new  baby  below  him  again,  of 
course  it  would  have  been  the  greatest  of  all.  Peggy 
could  not  have  explained  this  in  words,  but  she 
knew  it  thoroughly  all  the  same,  and  she  had  learnt 
to  take  it  into  account  in  her  treatment  of  the  two, 
especially  in  her  stories  telling.  In  reality  the  story 
itself  was  all  for  Hal,  but  there  was  a  sort  of  running 
accompaniment  for  Baby  which  he  enjoyed  very 
much,  and  which-,  to  tell  the  truth,  I  rather  think 
Hal  found  amusing  too,  though  he  pretended  it  was 
for  Baby's  sake. 

This  morning  her  glance  out  of  the  window  had 
made  Peggy  feel  so  happy  that  the  story  promised  to 
be  a  great  success.  She  sat  still  for  a  minute  or  two, 
her  arms  clasped  round  Baby's  waist,  gently  rocking 
herself  and  him  to  and  fro,  while  her  gray  eyes  stared 
before  her,  as  if  reading  stories  in  the  carpet  or  on 
the  wall. 

"  Peggy,"  said  Hal  at  last,  giving  her  a  hug  —  he 
had  been  waiting  what  he  thought  a  very  long  time 
—  "  Peggy,  do  on  —  no,  I  mean  begin,  p'ease." 

"  Yes,  Hal,  d'reckly,"  said  Peggy.  "  It's  coming, 
Hal,  yes,  now  I  think  it's  corned.  Should  we  do 
piggies  first,  to  please  Baby  before  we  begin  ?  " 

"  Piggies  is  so  silly,"  said  Hal,  disdainfully. 

"  Well,  we'll  kiss  him  instead  —  another  kiss  all 
together,  he  does  so  like  that ;  "  and  when  the  kiss- 


18  PEGGY:  A  NURSERY  STORY. 

ing  was  over  —  "now,  Baby  dear,  listen,  and  p'raps 
you'll  understand  some,  and  if  you're  good  we'll  have 
piggies  soon." 

Baby  gave  a  kind  of  grunt;  perhaps  he  was  think- 
ing of  the  pigs,  but  most  likely  it  was  just  his  way 
of  saying  he  would  be  very  good. 

"  There  was  onst,"  Peggy  began,  "  a  little  girl  who 
lived  in  a  big  house  all  by  herself." 

"  Hadn't  she  no  mamma,  or  nurse,  or  —  or  —  brud- 
ders  ?  "  Hal  interrupted. 

"No,  not  none,"  Peggy  went  on.  "She  lived 
quite  alone,  and  she  didn't  like  it.  The  house  was 
as  big  as  a  —  as  a  church,  and  she  hadn't  no  bed,  and 
no  chairs  or  tables,  and  there  was  very,  very  high 
stairs." 

"  Is  there  stairs  in  churches  ?  "  asked  Hal. 

Peggy  looked  rather  puzzled. 

"  Yes,  I  think  there  is,"  she  said.  "  There's  people 
high  up  in  churches,  so  there  must  be  stairs.  But  I 
didn't  say  it  were  a  church,  Hal ;  I  only  said  as  big 
as  a  church.  And  the  stairs  was  for  Baby  —  you'll 
hear  —  p'raps  there  wasn't  redly  stairs.  Now,  Baby, 
one  day  a  little  piggy-wiggy  came  up  the  stairs  — 
one,  two,  three,"  and  Peggy's  hand  came  creeping  up 
Baby's  foot  and  leg  and  across  his  pinafore  and  up 
his  bare  arm  again,  by  way  of  illustrating  piggy's 
progress,  "and  when  he  got  to  the  top  he  said 
4  grumph,'  and  poked  his  nose  into  the  little  girl's 
neck  "  —  here  Peggy's  own  nose  made  a  dive  among 


THE   WHITE   SPOT   ON   THE   HILL.  19 

Baby's  double  chins,  to  his  exceeding  delight,  setting 
him  off  chuckling  to  himself  for  some  time,  which 
left  Peggy  free  to  go  on  with  the  serious  part  of  the 
story  for  Hal's  benefit  —  "  and  there  was  a  window  in 
the  big  house,  and  the  little  girl  used  to  sit  there 
always  looking  out." 

"  Always  ?  "  asked  Hal  again.  "  All  night  too  ? 
Didn't  her  ever  go  to  bed  ?  " 

"She  hadn't  no  bed,  I  told  you.  No,  she  didn't 
sit  there  all  night,  'cos  she  couldn't  have  see'd  in  the 
dark.  Never  mind  about  the  night.  She  sat  there 
all  day,  always  looking  out,  'cos  there  was  something 
she  liked  to  see.  If  I  tell  you  you  won't  tell  nobody 
what  it  was,  will  you,  Hal  ?  " 

Hal  looked  very  mystified,  but  replied  obediently, 

"  No,  won't  tell  nobody,"  he  said. 

"  Well,  then,  I'll  tell  you  what  it  was.  It  was 
a  —  "  But  at  this  moment  Baby,  having  had  enough 
of  his  own  meditations,  began  to  put  in  a  claim  to 
some  special  attention.  The  piggy  had  to  be  sum- 
moned and  made  to  run  up  and  down  stairs  two  or 
three  times  before  he  would  be  satisfied  and  allow 
Peggy  to  proceed. 

"Well,  Peggy?"  said  Hal  eagerly. 

"  It  was  a  —  "  Oh  dear,  interrupted  again  !  But 
this  time  the  interruption  was  a  blessing  in  disguise. 
It  was  nurse  come  to  fetch  Baby  for  his  morning 
sleep. 

"  And  thank  you,  Miss  Peggy,  my  dear,  for  keep- 


20  PEGGY  :   A  NURSERY   STORY. 

ing  him  so  nice  and  good.  I  heard  you  come  up,  and 
I  knew  they'd  be  all  right  with  you,"  she  said,  as  she 
walked  away  with  Baby,  who  was  by  no  means  sure 
that  he  wanted  to  go. 

"  Now,"  said  Hal,  edging  closer  to  Peggy,  "  we'll 
be  comfable.  Go  on,  Peggy  —  what  she  sawed." 

"  It  was  a  hill  —  far,  far  away,  neely  as  far  as  the 
sky,"  said  Peggy,  in  a  mysterious  tone.  "  When  the 
sun  corned  she  could  see  it  plain  —  the  hill  and  what 
was  there,  but  when  the  sun  goed  she  couldn't. 
There  was  a  white  spot  on  the  hill,  Hal,  and  that 
white  spot  was  a  lovely  white  cottage.  She  knowed 
it,  though  she'd  never  see'd  it." 

"  How  did  she  know  it?  " 

"  Her  mam  —  no,  that's  wrong,  she  hadn't  no 
mamma  —  well,  never  mind,  somebody 'd  told  her." 

"  Were  it  G-od  ? "  asked  Hal,  in  an  awestruck 
whisper. 

"  I  don't  know.  No,  I  don't  think  so.  I  think 
it's  a  little  naughty  to  say  that,  Hal.  No,  dear,  don't 
cry,"  for  signs  of  disturbance  were  visible  in  Hal's 
round  face.  "You  didn't  mean,  and  it  isn't  never 
naughty  when  we  don't  mean,  you  know.  We'll  go 
on  about  the  little  girl.  She  knowed  it  was  a  lovely 
cottage,  and  she  wanted  very  much,  as  much  as  could 
be,  to  go  there,  for  the  big  house  wasn't  pretty,  and  it 
was  dark,  nearly  black,  and  the  cottage  was  all  white." 

"  Her  house  wasn't  as  nice  as  zit,  were  it  ?  Zit 
house  isn't  b'ack,"  said  Hal. 


THE    WHITE   SPOT   ON   THE   HILL.  21 

"  No,"  said  Peggy,  doubtfully.  "It  wasn't  as  nice 
as  this,  but  the  white  house  was  much  prettier  than 
this." 

"How?"  asked  Hal. 

"  Oh !  "  said  Peggy,  letting  her  eyes  and  her  fancy 
rove  about  together,  "  I  think  it  was  beautiful  all 
over.  It  was  all  shiny  white ;  the  walls  was  white, 
and  the  carpets  was  white,  and  the  tables  and  the 
chairs  was  white  —  all  shiny  and  soft  like  —  like  —  " 

"  Baby's  best  sash,"  suggested  Hal. 

"  Well,  p'raps  —  that'll  do.  And  there  was  a  cow 
and  chickens  and  sheep,  and  a  kitchen  where  you 
could  make  cakes,  and  a  garden  with  lots  of  flowers 
and  strawberries  —  " 

"  All  white  ?  "  asked  Hal. 

"No,  of  course  not.  Strawberries  couldn't  be 
white,  and  flowers  is  all  colours.  'Twas  the  droind- 
room  that  was  all  white." 

"  And  the  milk  and  the  eggs.  Zem  is  white,"  said 
Hal,  triumphantly. 

"Very  well.  I  didn't  say  they  wasn't.  But  the 
story  goes  on  that  the  little  girl  didn't  know  how  to 
get  there ;  it  was  so  far  and  so  high  up.  So  she  sat 
and  cried  all  alone  at  the  window." 

"  All  alone,  poor  little  girl,"  said  Hal,  with  deep 
feeling.  "Kick,  Peggy,  kick,  I'm  doing  to  cry; 
make  it  come  right  kick.  The  crying's  just  coming." 

"  Make  it  wait  a  minute.  I  can't  make  it  come 
right  all  so  quick,"  said  Peggy.  "  It's  going  to  come, 


22          PEGGY:  A  NUKSERY  STORY. 

so  make  the  crying  wait.  One  day  she  was  crying 
d'edful,  worst  than  never,  'cos  the  sun  had  goned, 
and  she  couldn't  see  the  white  cottage  no  more,  and 
just  then  she  heard  something  saying,  4  mew,  mew,' 
and  it  was  a  kitten  outside  the  window,  and  it  was 
just  going  to  fall  down  and  be  killed." 

"  That's  not  coming  right.     I  must  cry,"  said  Hal. 

"  But  she  opened  the  window  —  there  now,  you 
see  —  and  she  pulled  the  kitten  in,  so  it  didn't  fall 
down,  and  it  was  so  pleased  it  kissed  her,  and  when 
it  kissed  her  it  turned  into  a  fairy,  and  it  touched 
her  neck  and  made  wings  come,  and  then  it  opened 
the  window  again  and  flewed  away  with  the  little 
girl  till  they  came  to  the  white  cottage,  and  then  the 
little  girl  was  quite  happy  for  always." 

" Did  the  fairy  stay  with  her  always?  "  asked  Hal. 

"  No ;  fairies  never  does  like  that.  They  go  back 
to  fairyland.  But  the  little  girl  had  nice  milk  and 
eggs  and  cakes,  and  she  made  nosegays  with  the 
flowers,  and  the  sun  was  always  shining,  so  she  was 
quite,  quite  happy." 

"  Her  couldn't  be  happy  all  alone,"  said  Hal.  "  I 
don't  like  zat  story,  Peggy.  You  haven't  made  it 
nice  at  all.  It's  a  nonsense  story." 

Hal  wriggled  about  and  seemed  very  cross.  Poor 
Peggy  was  not  so  much  indignant  as  distressed  at 
failing  in  her  efforts  to  amuse  him.  What  was  the 
matter?  It  couldn't  be  that  he  was  getting  sleepy  — 
it  was  far  too  early  for  his  morning  sleep. 


Hii  outlim.  of 
of  Kills,  50  sofrty  gray. 
blu^  «n  fhi  cfi 
^c\T  but  for  H 
uJa^r  lint  nivjr 
chcxn<£«'n<£  in  its  form 
ont  could  Easily 

if  WAS  only  flu 


>f  a  auickf 


y 


way,  mi  y 


,'   5m  5aid,  "ovir  tiitri,  Ikr,  TAT 
,  do£s  you  5u   ^Ka.^ 


p<23 


THE    WHITE   SPOT   ON   THE    HILL.  23 

"  It  isn't  a  nonsense  story,"  she  said,  and  she 
glanced  towards  the  window  as  she  spoke.  Yes,  the 
sun  was  shining  brightly,  the  morning  clouds  had 
quite  melted  away;  it  was  going  to  be  a  fine  day 
after  all.  And  clear  and  white  gleamed  out  the 
spot  on  the  distant  hill  which  Peggy  loved  to  gaze 
at !  "  Come  here,  Hal,"  she  said,  getting  on  to  her 
feet  and  helping  Hal  on  to  his,  "come  with  me  to 
the  window  and  you'll  see  if  it's  a  nonsense  story. 
Only  you've  never  to  tell  nobody.  It's  Peggy's  own 
secret." 

Hal  forgot  his  crossness  in  a  minute,  he  felt  so 
proud  and  honoured.  Peggy  led  him  to  the  window. 
It  was  not  a  very  pretty  prospect ;  they  looked  out 
on  to  a  commonplace  street,  houses  on  both  sides, 
though  just  opposite  there  was  a  little  variety  in 
the  shape  of  an  old-fashioned,  smoke-dried  garden. 
Beyond  that  again,  more  houses,  more  streets,  stretch- 
ing away  out  into  suburbs,  and  somewhere  beyond  all 
that  again  the  mysterious,  beautiful,  enchanting  re- 
gion which  the  children  spoke  of  and  believed  in  as 
"  the  country,"  not  really  so  far  off  after  all,  though 
to  them  it  seemed  so. 

And  above  the  tops  of  all  the  houses,  clear  though 
faint,  was  now  to  be  seen  the  outline  of  a  range  of 
hills,  so  softly  gray-blue  in  the  distance  that  but  for 
the  irregular  line  never  changing  in  its  form,  one 
could  easily  have  fancied  it  was  only  the  edge  of 
a  quickly  passing  ridge  of  clouds.  Peggy,  however, 
knew  better. 


24  PEGGY:  A  NURSERY  STORY. 

"  See,  Hal,"  she  said,  "  over  there,  far,  far  away, 
neely  in  the  sky,  does  you  see  that  bluey  hill  ?  " 

Of  course  he  saw,  agreeing  so  readily  that  Peggy 
was  sure  he  did  not  distinguish  rightly,  which  was 
soon  proved  to  be  the  case  by  his  announcing  that 
"  The  'ill  were  sailing  away." 

"  No,  no,  it  isn't,"  Peggy  cried.  "  You've  mus- 
tooked  a  cloud,  Hal.  See  now,"  and  by  bringing  her 
own  eyes  exactly  on  a  level  with  a  certain  spot  on 
the  glass  she  was  able  to  place  his  correctly,  "just 
over  that  little  bubble  in  the  window  you  can  see  it. 
Its  top  goes  up  above  the  bubble  and  then  down  and 
then  up  again,  and  it  never  moves  like  the  clouds  — 
does  you  see  now,  Hallie  dear  ?  " 

"  Zes,  zes,"  said  Hal,  "  but  it's  a  wenny  little  'ill, 

Peggy." 

"No,  dear,"  his  sister  explained.  "It  only  looks 
little  'cos  it's  so  far  away.  You  is  too  little  to  under- 
stand, dear,  but  it's  true  that  it's  a  big  hill,  neely  a 
mountain,  Hal.  Mamma  told  me." 

"  Oh,"  said  Hal,  profoundly  impressed  and  quite 
convinced. 

"  Mountings  is  old  hills,  or  big  hills,"  Peggy  con- 
tinued, herself  slightly  confused.  "  I  don't  know  if 
they  is  the  papas  and  mammas  of  the  little  ones,  but 
I  think  it's  something  like  that,  for  onst  in  church 
I  heard  the  clergymunt  read  that  the  little  hills 
jumped  for  joy,  so  they  must  be  the  children.  I'll  ask 
mamma,  and  then  I'll  tell  you.  I'm  not  quite  sure  if 


THE   WHITE   SPOT   ON   THE   HILL.  25 

he  mearied  the  same  kind,  for  these  hills  never  jumps 
—  that's  how  mamma  told  me  to  know  they  wasn't 
clouds." 

"  Zes,"  said  Hal,  "but  go  on  about  the  secret, 
Peggy.  Hal  doesn't  care  about  the  'ills." 

"But  the  secret's  on  the  hills,"  replied  Peggy. 
"  Look  more,  Hal  —  does  you  see  a  teeny,  teeny 
white  spot  on  the  bluey  hill  ?  Higher  up  than  the 
bubble,  but  not  at  the  top  quite  ?  " 

Hal's  eyes  were  good  and  his  faith  great. 

"  Zes,  zes,"  he  cried.  "  I  does  see  it  —  kite  plain, 
Peggy." 

"  Well,  Hallie,"  Peggy  continued,  "  that's  my 
secret." 

"  Is  it  the  fairy  cottage,  and  is  the  little  girl  zere 
now  ?  "  Hal  asked,  breathlessly. 

Peggy  hesitated. 

"  It  is  a  white  cottage,"  she  said.  "  Mamma  told 
me.  She  looked  at  it  through  a  seeing  pipe." 

"  What's  a  seeing  pipe  ?  "  Hal  interrupted. 

"  I  can't  tell  you  just  now.  Ask  mamma  to  show 
you  hers  some  day.  It's  too  difficult  to  understand, 
but  it  makes  you  see  things  plain.  And  mamma 
found  out  it  was  reely  a  cottage,  a  white  cottage, 
all  alone  up  on  the  hill  —  isn't  it  sweet  of  it  to  be 
there  all  alone,  Hallie  ?  And  she  said  I  might  think 
it  was  a  fairy  cottage  and  keep  it  for  my  own  secret, 
only  I've  telled  you,  Hal,  and  you  mustn't  tell 
nobody." 


26  PEGGY:    A    NURSERY    STORY. 

"  And  is  it  all  like  Baby's  best  sash,  and  are  there 
cakes  and  f'owers  and  cows?"  asked  Hal. 

"  I  don't  know.  I  made  up  the  story,  you  know, 
Hal,  to  please  you.  I've  made  lots  —  mamma  said  I 
might.  But  I've  never  see'd  the  cottage,  you  know. 
I  dare  say  it's  beautiful,  white  and  gold  like  the  story, 
that's  why  I  said  it.  It  does  so  shine  when  the  sun's 
on  it  — look,  look,  Hal!" 

For  as  she  spoke  the  sunshine  had  broken  out 
again  more  brilliantly ;  and  the  bright,  thin  sparkle 
which  often  dazzles  one  between  the  showers  in 
unsettled  weather,  lighted  up  that  quarter  of  the 
sky  where  the  children  were  gazing,  and,  to  their 
fancy  at  least,  the  white  spot  caught  and  reflected 
the  rays. 

"  Oh  zes,  I  see,"  Hal  repeated.  "  But,  Peggy,  I'd 
like  to  go  zere  and  to  see  it.  Can't  we  go,  Peggy  ?  It 
would  be  so  nice,  nicer  than  making  up  stories.  And 
do  you  think  —  oh  do  you  think,  Peggy,  that  p'raps 
there's  pigs  zere,  real  pigs  ?  " 

He  clasped  his  hands  entreatingly  as  he  spoke. 
Peggy  must  say  there  were  pigs.  Poor  Peggy  —  it 
was  rather  a  comedown  after  her  fairy  visions.  But 
she  was  too  kind  to  say  anything  to  vex  Hal. 

"  I  thought  you  said  pigs  was  silly,"  she  objected, 
gently. 

"  Playing  pigs  to  make  Baby  laugh  is  silly,"  said 
Hal,  "  and  pigs  going  to  market  and  stayin'  at  'ome 
and  roast  beeffin',  is  d'edful  silly.  But  riot  real  pigs." 


THE    WHITE   SPOT   ON   THE   HILL.  27 

44  Oh  well,  then,  you  may  think  pigs  if  you  like," 
said  Peggy.  "  I  don't  think  I  will,  but  that  doesn't 
matter.  You  may  have  them  in  the  cottage  if  you 
like,  only  you  mustn't  tell  Thor  and  Terry  and 
Baldwin  about  it." 

"I  won't  tell,  on'y  you  might  have  them  too,"  said 
Hal  discontentedly.  "You're  not  kind,  Peggy." 

"  Don't  let's  talk  about  the  cottage  any  more, 
then,"  said  Peggy,  though  her  own  eyes  were  fixed 
on  the  far-off  white  spot  as  she  spoke.  "I  think 
p'raps,  Hallie,  you're  rather  too  little  to  care  about 
it." 

"I'm  not,"  said  Hal,  "and  I  do  care.  But  I  do 
like  pigs,  real  pigs.  I  sawed  zem  in  the  country." 

"You  can't  remember,"  said  Peggy.  "It's  two 
whole  years  since  we  was  in  the  real  country,  Hallie, 
and  you're  only  three  and  a  half.  I  know  it's  two 
years.  I  heard  mamma  say  so  to  papa,  so  you  wasn't 
two  then." 

44  But  I  did  see  zem  and  I  do  'amember,  'cos  of 
pictures,"  said  Hal. 

44  Oh  yes,  dear,  there  is  pictures  of  pigs  in  your 
scrap-book,  I  know,"  Peggy  agreed.  "  You  get  it 
now  and  we'll  look  for  them." 

Off  trotted  Hal,  returning  in  a  minute  with  his 
book,  and  for  a  quarter  of  an  hour  or  so  his  patient 
little  sister  managed  to  keep  him  happy  and  amused. 
At  the  end  of  that  time,  however,  he  began  to  be 
cross  and  discontented  again.  Peggy  did  not  know 


28  PEGGY:  A  NURSERY  STORY. 

what  to  make  of  him  this  morning,  he  was  not  often 
so  difficult  to  please.  She  was  very  glad  when  nurse 
came  in  to  say  it  was  now  his  time  for  his  morning 
sleep,  and  though  Hal  grumbled  and  scolded  and 
said  he  was  not  sleepy  she  carried  him  off,  and  Peggy 
was  left  in  peace. 

She  was  not  at  a  loss  to  employ  herself.  At  half- 
past  eleven  she  usually  went  down  to  mamma  for  an 
hour's  lessons,  and  it  must  be  nearly  that  time  now. 
She  got  her  books  together  and-  sat  looking  over  the 
one  verse  she  had  to  learn,  her  thoughts  roving 
nevertheless  in  the  direction  they  loved  best  —  away 
over  the  chimneys  and  the  smoke ;  away,  away,  up, 
up  to  the  fairy  cottage  on  the  distant  hill. 


CHAPTER  III. 

"THE   CHILDREN   AT   THE   BACK." 

"It  seems  to  me  if  I'd  money  enough, 
My  heart  would  be  made  of  different  stuff ; 
I  would  think  about  those  whose  lot  is  rough." 

MRS.  HAWTREY. 

THESE  children's  home  was  not  in  a  very  pretty 
place.  In  front,  as  I  have  told  you,  it  looked  out 
on  to  a  rather  ugly  street,  and  there  were  streets  and 
streets  beyond  that  again  —  streets  of  straight,  stiff, 
grim-looking  houses,  some  large  and  some  small,  but 
all  commonplace  and  dull.  And  in  and  out  between 
these  bigger  streets  were  narrower  and  still  uglier 
ones,  scarcely  indeed  to  be  called  streets,  so  dark 
and  poky  were  they,  so  dark  and  poky  were  the  poor 
houses  they  contained. 

The  street  immediately  behind  the  children's 
house,  that  on  to  which  its  back  windows  looked 
out,  was  one  of  these  poorer  ones,  though  not  by  any 
means  one  of  the  most  miserable.  And  ugly  though 
it  was,  Peggy  was  very  fond  of  gazing  out  of  the 
night  nursery  window  on  to  this  street,  especially 
on  days  when  it  was  "no  use,"  as  she  called  it  to 
herself,  looking  out  at  the  front;  that  meant,  as  I 
dare  say  you  can  guess,  days  on  which  it  was  too 

29 


30  PEGGY:  A  NURSERY  STORY. 

dull  and  cloudy  to  see  the  distant  hills,  and  above 
all  the  white  spot,  which  had  taken  such  hold  on  her 
fancy.  For  she  had  found  out  some  very  interesting 
things  in  that  dingy  street.  Straight  across  from  the 
night  nursery  window  was  a  very  queer  miserable 
sort  of  a  shop,  kept  by  an  old  Irishwoman  whose 
name  was  Mrs.  Whelan.  It  is  rather  absurd  to  call 
it  a  shop,  though  it  was  a  place  where  things  were 
bought  and  sold,  for  the  room  in  which  these  buyings 
and  sellings  went  on  was  Mrs.  Whelan's  kitchen, 
and  bedroom,  and  sitting-room,  and  wash-house,  as 
well  as  her  shop !  It  was  on  the  first  floor,  and  you 
got  up  to  it  by  a  rickety  staircase  —  more  like  a 
ladder  indeed  than  a  staircase,  and  underneath  it  on 
the  ground-floor  lived  a  cobbler,  with  whom  Mrs. 
Whelan  used  to  quarrel  at  least  once  a  day,  though 
as  he  was  a  patient,  much  enduring  man,  the  quarrels 
never  went  farther  than  the  old  Irishwoman's  open- 
ing her  window  and  shouting  down  all  manner  of 
scoldings  to  the  poor  fellow,  of  which  he  took  no 
notice. 

On  Sundays  the  cobbler  used  to  tidy  himself  up 
and  go  off  to  church  "like  a  gentleman,"  the  boys 
said.  But  Mrs.  Whelan,  alas,  never  tidied  herself 
up,  and  never  went  to  church,  and  though  she  made 
a  great  show  of  putting  a  shutter  across  that  part  of 
the  window  which  showed  "the  shop,"  nurse  had 
more  than  once  shaken  her  head  when  the  children 
were  dressing  for  church,  and  told  them  not  to  look 


nmr 


in  £\t  tkt    WcMbf,  o"T  WAsKid    oui'   Cotton, 
looktol    clicxn  ,  a^nd  yif  ^omtKov 
to  <gtt  mucK   dirtier,  c\  l>lc\ck  staff 
snd    A  CAp    witl^     ^I^|oj9in^     Drill 
n  j'ck  auiti    nia  Kir   4<\c£    unli55  you  vv^-U 
^r  Ktr  ,  iNviol    ^hi    wa^    ^inirally  to 
5itn    with    ^.  b'^i    i»^    nir    m<>u.tln  .       Her 


you    Could 


almost    kicxr    wkcxt 
window 


"THE  CHILDREN   AT  THE  BACK."  31 

over  the  way,  she  was  sadly  afraid  the  shutting  or 
shuttering  up  was  all  a  pretence,  and  that  Mrs. 
Whelan  made  a  good  penny  by  her  Sunday  sales  of 
tobacco  and  pipes  to  the  men,  or  maybe  of  sugar, 
candles,  or  matches  to  careless  housekeepers  who 
had  let  their  stock  run  out  too  late  on  Saturday 
night. 

She  was  rather  a  terrible-looking  old  woman ;  she 
always  wore  a  short  bed-gown,  that  is,  a  loose  kind 
of  jacket  roughly  drawn  in  at  the  waist,  of  washed- 
out  cotton,  which  never  looked  clean,  and  yet  some- 
how never  seemed  to  get  much  dirtier,  a  black  stuff 
petticoat,  and  a  cap  with  flapping  frills  which  quite 
hid  her  face  unless  you  were  very  near  her,  and  she 
was  generally  to  be  seen  with  a  pipe  in  her  mouth. 
Her  voice  was  both  loud  and  shrill,  and  when  she 
was  in  a  temper  you  could  almost  hear  what  she 
said,  though  the  nursery  window  was  shut.  All  the 
neighbours  were  afraid  of  her,  and  in  consequence 
treated  her  with  great  respect.  But  like  most  people 
in  this  world,  she  had  some  good  about  her,  as  you 
will  hear. 

Good  or  bad,  the  children,  Peggy  especially,  found 
Mrs.  Whelan  very  interesting.  Peggy  had  never 
seen  her  nearer  than  from  the  window,  and  though 
she  had  a  queer  sort  of  wish  to  visit  the  shop  and 
make  closer  acquaintance  with  the  old  crone,  she 
was  far  too  frightened  of  her  to  think  of  doing  so 
really.  The  boys,  however,  had  been  several  times 


32          PEGGY:  A  NURSERY  STORY. 

inside  Mrs.  Whelaii's  dwelling,  and  used  to  tell 
wonderful  stories  of  the  muddle  of  things  it  con- 
tained, and  of  the  old  woman  herself.  They  always 
bought  their  soap-bubble  pipes  there,  "three  a  penny," 
and  would  gladly  have  bought  some  of  the  toffee- 
balls  and  barley-sugar  which  were  also  to  be  had,  if 
this  had  not  been  strictly  forbidden  by  mamma,  in 
spite  of  their  grumbling. 

"  It  isn't  so  very  dirty,  mamma,"  they  said,  "  and 
you  get  a  lot  more  for  a  penny  than  in  a  proper 
shop." 

But  mamma  would  not  give  in.  She  knew  what 
Mrs.  Whelan  was  like,  as  she  used  sometimes  to  go 
over  herself  to  talk  to  the  poor  old  woman,  but  that, 
of  course,  was  a  different  matter. 

"  I  don't  much  like  your  going  there  at  all,"  she 
would  say,  ubut  it  pleases  her  for  us  to  buy  some 
trifles  now  and  then." 

But  in  her  heart  she  wished  very  much  that  they 
were  not  obliged  to  live  in  this  dreary  and  ugly  town, 
where  their  poor  neighbours  were  rarely  the  sort  of 
people  she  could  let  her  children  know  anything  of. 
Mamma,  in  Tier  childhood,  had  lived  in  that  fairyland 
she  called  "  the  country,"  and  so  had  papa,  and  they 
still  looked  forward  to  being  there  again,  though  for 
the  present  they  were  obliged  to  make  the  best  of 
their  home  in  a  dingy  street. 

It  seemed  much  less  dull  and  dingy  to  the  chil- 
dren than  to  them,  however.  Indeed  I  don't  think 


•'THE    CHILDiiEN    AT   THE   BACK."  33 

the  children  ever  thought  about  it  at  all.  The 
boys  were  busy  at  school,  and  found  plenty  of  both 
work  and  play  to  make  the  time  pass  quickly,  and 
Peggy,  who  might  perhaps  have  been  a  little  dull 
and  lonely  in  her  rather  shut-up  life,  had  her  fancies 
and  her  wonders  —  her  interesting  things  to  look  at 
both  at  the  front  and  the  back  of  the  house,  and 
mamma  to  tell  all  about  them  to  !  And  this  reminds 
me  that  I  have  not  yet  told  you  what  it  was  she 
was  most  fond  of  watching  from  the  night  nursery 
window.  It  was  not  Mrs.  Whelan  or  the  cobbler  ;  it 
was  the  tenants  of  the  third  or  top  story  of  the 
rickety  old  house  —  the  family  she  always  spoke  of 
to  herself  as  "  the  children  at  the  back." 

Such  a  lot  of  them  there  were.  It  was  long 
before  Peggy  was  able  to  distinguish  them  "  all 
from  each  other,"  as  she  said,  and  it  took  her  longer 
still  to  make  names  by  which  she  could  keep  a  clear 
list  in  her  head.  The  eldest  looked  to  her  quite 
grown-up,  though  in  reality  she  was  about  thirteen  ; 
she  was  a  big  red-cheeked  girl,  though  she  lived  in  a 
town  ;  her  arms  were  red  too,  poor  thing,  especially 
in  winter,  for  they  were  seldom  or  never  covered, 
and  she  seemed  to  be  always  at  work,  scrubbing  or 
washing,  or  running  out  to  fetch  two  or  three  of  the 
little  ones  in  from  playing  in  the  gutter.  Peggy 
called  her  "  Reddy,"  and  though  it  was  the  girl's  red 
cheeks  and  arms  which  made  her  first  choose  the 
name,  in  a  while  she  came  to  think  of  it  as  meaning 


34          PEGGY:  A  NUKSEBY  STORY. 

"  ready  "  also,  for  Peggy  did  not  know  much  about 
spelling  as  yet,  and  the  thought  in  her  mind  of  the 
look  of  the  two  words  was  the  same.  For  a  good 
while  Peggy  fancied  that  Reddy  was  the  nurse  or 
servant  of  the  family,  but  one  day  when  she  said 
something  of  the  kind  to  her  own  nurse  she  was 
quickly  put  right. 

"  Their  servant,  my  dear !  Bless  you,  no.  How 
could  they  afford  to  keep  •  a  servant ;  they've  hard 
enough  work  to  keep  themselves,  striving  folk 
though  they  seem.  There's  such  a  many  of  them, 
you  see,  and  mostly  so  little  —  save  that  big  girl 
and  the  sister  three  below  her,  there's  none  really  to 
help  the  mother.  And  the  cripple  must  be  a  great 
charge." 

"What's  the  cripple,  nursey?"  Peggy  asked. 

"  Why,  Miss  Peggy,  haven't  you  noticed  the 
white-faced  girl  on  crutches  ?  You  must  have  seen 
her  dragging  up  and  down  in  front  of  the  house  of  a 
fine  day." 

"Oh  yes,"  said  Peggy,  "but  I  didn't  know  that 
was  called  cripple.  And  she's  quite  little ;  she's  as 
little  as  me,  nurse  !  " 

"  She's  older  than  she  looks,  poor  thing,"  said 
nurse  —  "  maybe  oldest  of  them  all." 

This,  however,  Peggy  could  not  believe.  She 
fixed  in  her  own  mind  that  "  Crippley  "  came  after 
the  two  boys  who  were  evidently  next  to  Reddy  — 
she  did  not  give  the  boys  names,  for  they  did  not 


UTHE   CHILDREN    AT   THE   BACK."  35 

interest  her  as  much  as  the  girls.  Having  so  many 
brothers  of  her  own  and  no  sister,  it  seemed  to  her 
as  if  a  sister  must  be  the  very  nicest  thing  in  the 
world,  and  of  all  the  children  at  the  back,  the  two 
that  she  liked  most  to  watch  were  a  pair  of  little 
girls  about  three  years  older  than  herself,  whom  she 
named  "  The  Smileys,"  "  Brown  Smiley  "  and  "  Light 
Smiley  "  when  she  thought  of  them  separately,  for 
though  they  were  very  like  each  other,  the  colour  of 
their  hair  was  different.  They  were  very  jolly  little 
girls,  poorly  clad  and  poorly  fed  though  they  were, 
taking  life  easily,  it  seemed  —  too  easily  in  the  opin- 
ion of  their  eldest  sister  Reddy,  and  the  sister  next 
above  them  —  between  them  and  Crippley,  accord- 
ing to  Peggy's  list.  This  sister  was  the  only  one 
whose  real  name  Peggy  knew,  by  hearing  it  so  fre- 
quently shouted  after  her  by  the  mother  and  Reddy. 
For  this  child,  "  Maiy-Hann,"  was  rather  deaf, 
though  it  was  not  till  long  afterwards  that  Peggy 
found  this  out. 

"  Mary-Hann  "  was  a '  patient  stupid  sort  of  girl, 
a  kind  of  second  in  command  to  Reddy,  and  she  was 
like  Reddy  in  appearance,  except  that  she  was  several 
sizes  smaller  and  thinner,  so  that  even  supposing 
that  her  arms  were  as  red  as  her  sister's  they  did 
not  strike  one  in  the  same  way. 

Below  the  Smileys  came  another  boy,  who  was 
generally  to  be  seen  in  their  company,  and  who, 
according  to  Peggy,  rejoiced  in  the  name  of  "  Tip." 


36  PEGGY:    A  NURSERY   STORY. 

And  below  Tip  were  a  few  babies,  in  reality  I  be- 
lieve never  more  than  three,  during  the  years 
through  which  their  little  over-the-way  neighbour 
watched  them.  But  even  she  was  obliged  to  give 
up  hopes  of  classifying  the  babies,  for  there  always 
seemed  to  be  a  baby  about  the  same  age,  and  one  or 
two  others  just  struggling  into  standing  or  rather 
tumbling  alone,  and  for  ever  being  picked  up  by 
Reddy  or  her  attendant  sprite  Mary-Hann. 

Such  were  Peggy's  "  children  at  the  back."  And 
many  a  dull  day  when  it  was  too  rainy  to  go  a  walk, 
and  too  cloudy  to  be  "  any  use  "  to  gaze  out  at  the 
front  of  the  house,  did  these  poor  children,  little  as 
they  guessed  it,  help  to  make  pass  more  quickly  and 
pleasantly  for  the  sisterless  maiden.  Many  a  morn- 
ing when  Hal  and  Baby  were  asleep  and  nurse  was 
glad  to  have  an  hour  or  so  for  a  bit  of  ironing,  or 
some  work  of  the  kind  down  in  the  kitchen  —  for 
my  Peggy's  papa  and  mamma  were  not  rich  and 
could  not  keep  many  servants,  so  that  nurse,  though 
she  was  plain  and  homely  in  her  ways,  was  of  far 
more  use  than  a  smarter  young  woman  to  them  — 
many  a  morning  did  the  little  girl,  left  in  the  night 
nursery  in  charge  of  her  sleeping  brothers,  take  up 
her  stand  at  the  window  which  overlooked  Mrs. 
Whelan's  and  the  cobbler  and  the  Smileys  with  all 
their  brothers  and  sisters.  There  was  always  some- 
thing new  to  see  or  to  ask  nurse  to  explain  afterwards. 
For  ever  so  long  it  took  up  Peggy's  thoughts,  and 


37 

gave  much  conversation  in  the  nursery  to  "  plan  " 
how  the  ten  or  eleven  children,  not  to  speak  of  the 
papa  and  mamma,  could  all  find  place  in  two  rooms. 
It  kept  Peggy  awake  at  night,  especially  if  the 
weather  happened  to  be  at  all  hot  or  close,  to  think 
how  very  uncomfortable  poor  Reddy  and  Crippley 
and  Mary-Hann  and  the  Smileys  must  be,  all  sleep- 
ing in  one  bed  as  nurse  said  was  too  probably  the 
case.  And  it  was  the  greatest  relief  to  her  mind, 
and  to  nurse's  too,  I  do  believe,  to  discover  by  means 
of  some  cautious  inquiries  of  the  cobbler  when  nurse 
took  him  over  some  of  the  boys'  boots  to  mend,  that 
the  family  was  not  so  short  of  space  as  they  had 
feared. 

"  They've  two  other  rooms,  Miss  Peggy,  as  doesn't 
show  to  the  front,"  said  nurse,  "  two  attics  with  slop- 
ing windows  in  the  roof  to  their  back  again.  And 
they're  striving  folk,  he  says,  as  indeed  any  one  may 
see  for  theirselves." 

"  Then  how  shall  we  plan  it  now,  I  wonder,"  said 
Peggy,  looking  across  to  the  Smileys'  mansion  with 
new  respect.  But  nurse  had  already  left  the  room, 
and  perhaps,  now  she  was  satisfied  their  neighbours 
were  not  quite  so  much  to  be  pitied,  would  scarcely 
have  had  patience  to  listen  to  Peggy's  "  wonder- 
ings  "  about  them.  So  the  little  girl  went  on  to 
herself  — 

"  I  should  think  the  downstairs  room  is  the  papa's 
and  mamma's  and  the  teeniest  baby's,  and  perhaps 


38  PEGGY:    A   NUKSERY   STORY. 

Crippley  sleeps  there,  as  she's  ill,  like  me  when  I 
had  the  hooping-cough  and  I  couldn't  sleep  and 
mamma  kept  jumping  up  to  me.  And  then  the  big 
boys  and  Tip  has  one  room  — ;  ticks,'  nurse  calls 
the  rooms  with  windows  in  the  roof.  I  think  I'd 
like  to  sleep  in  a  'tick'  room;  you  must  see  the 
stars  so  plain  without  getting  up ;  and  —  and  — 
let  me  see,  Reddy  and  Mary-Hann  arid  the  Smileys 
and  the  old  babies  —  no,  that's  too  many  —  and  I 
don't  know  how  many  old  babies  there  is.  We'll 
say  one  —  if  there's  another  it  must  be  a  boy  and 
go  in  the  boys'  tick  —  and  that  makes  Reddy  and 
Mary  —  " 

"  Miss  Peggy,  your  mamma's  ready  for  your  les- 
sons," came  the  housemaid's  voice  at  the  door,  and 
Peggy  hurried  off.  But  she  was  rather  in  a  brown 
study  at  her  lessons  that  morning.  Mamma  could 
not  make  her  out  at  all,  till  at  last  she  shut  up  the 
books  for  a  minute  and  made  Peggy  tell  her  where 
her  thoughts  were  wool-gathering. 

"  Not  so  very  far  away,  mamma  dear,"  said  Peggy, 
laughing.  She  never  could  help  laughing  when 
mamma  said  "funny  things  like  that."  "Not  so 
very  far  away.  I  was  only  wondering  about  the 
children  at  the  back." 

She  called  them  always  "  the  children  at  the 
back  "  when  she  spoke  of  them  —  for  even  to  mamma 
she  would  have  felt  shy  of  telling  her  own  names 
for  them.  And  then  she  went  on  to  repeat  what 


UTHE   CHILDREN   AT   THE   BACK."  89 

nurse  had  heard  from  the  cobbler.  Mamma  agreed 
that  it  was  very  interesting,  and  she  too  was  pleased 
to  think  "the  children  at  the  back's  house,"  as 
Peggy  called  it,  was  more  commodious  than  might 
have  been  expected.  But  still,  even  such  interest- 
ing things  as  that  must  not  be  allowed  to  interfere 
with  lessons,  Peggy  must  put  it  all  out  of  her 
head  till  they  were  done  with,  and  then  mamma 
would  talk  about  it  with  her. 

"  Only,  mamma,"  said  Peggy,  "  I  don't  know  what 
com  —  commo  —  that  long  word  you  said,  means." 

"  I  should  not  have  used  it,  perhaps,"  said  mamma. 
"  And  yet  I  don't  know.  If  we  only  used  the  words 
you  understand  already,  you  would  never  learn  new 
ones  —  eh,  Peggy  !  Commodious  just  means  large, 
and  not  narrow  and  squeezed  up." 

Peggy  nodded  her  head,  which  meant  that  she 
quite  understood,  and  then  the  lessons  went  on 
smoothly  again. 

When  they  were  over,  mamma  talked  about  poor 
people,  especially  about  poor  children,  to  Peggy, 
and  explained  to  her  more  than  she  had  ever  done 
before  about  what  being  poor  really  means.  It  made 
Peggy  feel  and  look  rather  sad,  and  once  or  twice 
mamma  was  afraid  she  was  going  to  cry,  which,  of 
course,  she  did  not  wish  her  to  do.  But  Peggy 
choked  down  the  crying  feeling,  because  she  knew  it 
would  make  her  mother  sorry  and  would  not  do  the 
poor  people  any  good. 


40  PEGGY:  A  NUKSERY  STORY. 

"Mamma,"  she  said,  "it  neely  makes  me  cry,  but 
I  won't.  But  when  I'm  big  can't  I  do  something 
for  the  children  at  the  back  ?  " 

"  They  won't  be  children  then,  Peggy  dear.  You 
may  be  able  to  do  something  for  them  without 
waiting  for  that.  I'll  think  about  it.  I  don't  fancy 
they  are  so  very  poor.  As  I  have  been  telling  you, 
there  are  many  far  poorer.  But  I  dare  say  they  have 
very  few  pleasures  in  their  lives.  We  might  try  to 
think  of  a  little  sunshine  for  them  now  and  then." 

"  The  Smile  — "  began  Peggy,  but  she  stopped 
suddenly,  growing  red  —  "  the  littler  ones  do  play  a 
good  deal  in  the  gutter,  mamma  dear,"  she  said, 
anxious  to  state  things  quite  fairly;  "but  I  don't 
think  that's  very  nice  play,  and  the  sun  very  seldom 
shines  there.  And  Red  —  the  big  ones,  mamma  dear, 
and  the  one  that  goes  on  —  I  can't  remember  the 
name  of  those  sticks."  v 

"  Crutches,"  said  mamma. 

"  Yes,  crutches  —  her  never  has  no  plays  at  all,  I 
don't  think.  She'd  have  more  sunshine  at  the  'nother 
side  of  our  house,  mamma  dear." 

Mamma  smiled.  Peggy  did  not  understand  that 
mamma  did  not  mean  "  sunshine "  exactly  as  she 
took  it;  she  forgot,  too,  that  of  actual  sunshine  more 
fell  on  the  back  street  than  she  thought  of.  For  it 
was  only  on  dull  or  rainy  days  that  she  looked  out 
much  on  the  children  at  the  back.  On  fine  days  her 
eyes  were  busy  in  another  direction. 


"  THE   CHILDREN   AT   THE   BACK."  41 

"I'll  think  about  it,"  said  mamma.  So  Peggy 
for  the  present  was  satisfied. 

This  talk  about  the  Smileys  and  the  rest  of  them 
had  been  a  day  or  two  before  the  morning  on  which 
we  first  saw  Peggy  —  the  morning  that  Thor  tried 
so  to  make  fun  of  her  about  choosing  sugar  in  her 
bread  and  milk,  because  it  was  cold.  Mamma  had 
not  said  any  more  about  the  children  at  the  back, 
and  this  particular  morning  Peggy  herself  was  not 
thinking  •  very  much  about  them.  Her  head  was 
running  a  good  deal  on  the  white  cottage  and  all  her 
fancies  about  it,  and  she  was  feeling  rather  disap- 
pointed that  she  had  not  succeeded  better  in  amusing 
Hal  by  her  stories. 

"  It  must  be,  I  suppose,"  she  said  to  herself,  "  that 
he's  rather  too  little  for  that  kind  of  fancy  stories. 
I  wonder  if  Baldwin  would  like  them ;  it  would  be 
nice  to  have  somebody  to  make  fancies  with  me." 

But  somehow  Baldwin  and  the  fairy  cottage  did 
not  seem  to  match.  And  Thor  and  Terry  were  both 
much  too  big  —  Thor  would  laugh  at  her,  and  Terry 
would  think  it  waste  of  time  ;  he  had  so  many  other 
things  to  amuse  himself  about.  No,  Peggy  could 
not  think  of  any  one  who  would  "understand,"  she 
decided,  with  a  sigh  ! 


CHAPTER  IV. 


"  Mine  be  a  cot  beside  the  hill." 

SAMUEL  ROGERS. 

JUST  then  came  the  usual  summons  to  her  lessons. 
Mamma  was  waiting  for  her  little  girl  in  the  corner 
of  the  drawing-room,  where  she  always  sat  when 
she  was  teaching  Peggy.  It  was  a  very  nice  corner, 
near  the  fire,  for  though  it  was  not  winter  it  was 
rather  chilly,  and  mamma  often  felt  cold.  Thor 
used  to  tell  her  that  she  should  take  a  good  run  or 
have  a  game  of  cricket  to  warm  her ;  it  would  be 
much  better  than  sitting  near  the  fire.  Peggy 
thought  it  was  rather  unkind  of  Thor  to  say  so, 
but  mamma  only  laughed  at  him,  so  perhaps  it  was 
just  his  boy  way  of  speaking. 

Peggy  said  her  lessons  quite  well,  but  she  looked 
rather  grave;  no  smiles  lighted  up  her  face,  and 
when  lessons  were  over  she  sat  still  without  speak- 
ing, and  seemed  as  if  she  scarcely  knew  what  she 
wanted  to  do  with  herself. 

"  Is  there  anything  the  matter,  dear  ? "  mamma 
asked. 

42 


"KEAL"  FANCIES.  43 

"  I'm  rather  tired,  I  think,  mamma,"  Peggy 
replied. 

"  Tired  !  "  mamma  repeated,  in  some  surprise.  It 
wasn't  often  that  Peggy  talked  of  being  tired. 
"  What  is  that  with  ?  You've  not  been  worrying 
yourself  about  the  children  who  live  over  Mrs. 
Whelan's,  I  hope  ?  You  mustn't  do  that,  you  know, 
dear;  it  would  do  you  harm  and  them  no  good." 

For  mamma  knew  that  Peggy  sometimes  did 
"  worry  "  about  things  —  "  Once  she  takes  a  thing  in 
her  head  she'll  work  herself  up  so,  for  all  she  seems 
so  quiet,"  nurse  would  say. 

"  No,  mamma  dear,"  Peggy  replied ;  "  I'm  not 
tired  because  of  that.  I  like  thinking  about  the 
children  at  the  back.  I  wish  —  " 

"  What  ?  "  said  mamma. 

"  I  wish  I'd  sisters  like  them.  I'm  rather  lonely, 
mamma.  I  do  think  God  might  have  gaved  one 
sister  to  Peggy,  and  not  such  a  great  lot  to  the 
children  at  the  back." 

"  But  you  have  your  brothers,  my  dear  little  girl. 
You  might  have  been  an  only  child." 

"  The  big  ones  is  always  neely  at  school,  and  Hal's 
too  little  to  understand.  It's  Hal  that's  tired  me, 
mamma  dear.  He  was  so  d'edfully  cross  afore  nurse 
put  him  to  bed." 

"  Cross,  was  he  ?  "  said  mamma.  "  I'm  afraid  he 
must  be  getting  those  last  teeth.  He  may  be  cross 
for  some  time ;  if  so,  it  would  not  do  to  leave  him." 


44          PEGGY:  A  NUKSERY  STOKY. 

She  seemed  to  be  speaking  to  herself,  but  when  she 
caught  sight  of  Peggy's  puzzled  face  she  stopped. 
"  Tell  me  about  Hal,  dear,"  she  went  on.  "  What 
was  it  that  tired  you  so  ?  " 

"  I  was  trying  to  amuse  him  and  tell  him  stories 
about  my  white  cottage  up  on  the  hill,  and  he  was 
so  cross.  He  couldn't  understand,  and  he  said  they 
was  '  nonsense  '  stories." 

"  He  is  too  little,  perhaps,  to  care  for  fancies,"  said 
her  mother,  consolingly.  "  You  must  wait  till  he  is 
a  little  older,  Peggy  dear." 

"  But  when  he's  older  he'll  be  a  boy,  mamma," 
said  Peggy ;  "  he'll  be  like  Thor  and  Terry,  who 
don't  care  for  things  like  that,  or  Baldwin,  who 
thinks  stories  stupid.  Oh,  mamma,  I  wish  I  had  a 
sister.  That's  what  I  want,"  she  added,  with  con- 
viction. 

Mamma  smiled. 

"  Poor  Peggy,"  she  said.  "  I'm  afraid  it  can't  be 
helped.  You  can  never  have  a  sister  near  your  own 
age,  and  I'm  afraid  a  baby  sister,  even  if  you  had 
one,  would  be  no  good." 

"  Oh  no,  we've  had  enough  babies,"  said  Peggy, 
decidedly.  "  But,  mamma,  mightn't  there  be  some 
little  girl  who'd  play  with  me  like  a  sister?  If  there 
is  a  fairy  living  in  that  cottage,  mamma,  how  I  do 
wish  she  would  find  a  little  girl  for  me !  " 

Mamma  looked  a  very  little  bit  troubled. 

"  Peggy  dear,"  she  said,  "  you  mustn't  let  your 


'  hous*  1$  nd    lib 


olonf"  mind 
anxi'ous  not  to 

1\    Kurt  Kir  motlurs  fu(m65, 
i  « i » .  »    7 


don'i-   think    1   lib 
Ty    muck. 


45 

fancies  run  away  with  you  too  far.  I  told  you  they 
would  do  you  no  harm  if  you  kept  plain  in  your  head 
that  they  were  fancies,  but  you  mustn't  forget  that. 
You  know  there  couldn't  really  be  a  fairy  living  in 
that  little  white  cottage." 

"  No,"  Peggy  agreed,  "  I  know  that,  mamma,  be- 
cause fairies  really  live  in  fairyland."  ,. 

She  looked  up  gravely  into  her  mother's  face  as 
she  said  so.  Mamma  could  not  help  laughing. 

"  Fairies  really"  she  said,  "  live  in  Peggy's  funny 
little  head,  and  in  many  other  funny  little  heads,  I 
have  no  doubt.  But  nowhere  —  " 

"  Mamma,  mamma,"  Peggy  interrupted,  putting 
her  fingers  in  her  ears  as  she  spoke,  "  I  won't  listen. 
You  mustn't,  mustn't  say  that.  I  must  have  my 
fairies,  mamma.  I've  no  sisters." 

"  Well,  keep  them  in  fairyland  then,  or  at  least 
only  let  them  out  for  visits  now  and  then.  But  don't 
mix  them  up  with  real  things  too  much,  or  you  will 
get  quite  a  confusion,  and  never  be  sure  if  you're 
awake  or  dreaming." 

Peggy  seemed  to  consider  this  over  very  seriously. 
After  a  minute  or  two  she  lifted  her  face  again,  and 
looked  straight  into  her  mother's  with  her  earnest 
gray  eyes. 

"Mamma  dear,"  she  began,  "will  you  tell  me 
what  the  little  white  house  is  reely  like,  then?  If 
you  will,  I'll  promise  not  to  think  there's  fairies 
there  —  only  - 


46  PEGGY:    A   NURSE KY   STORY. 

"Only  what,  dear?" 

"  If  you  don't  mind,"  said  Peggy,  very  anxious  not 
to  hurt  her  mother's  feelings,  "  I'd  rather  not  have 
pigs.  I  don't  think  I  like  pigs  very  much." 

"  Well,  we  needn't  have  pigs  then.  But  remember 
I  can  only  4  fancy '  it.  I've  never  seen  that  particu- 
lar cottage,  you  see,  Peggy.  But  I  have  seen  other 
cottages  in  Brackenshire,  and  so  I  can  fancy  what  it 
most  likely  is.  You  see  there  are  different  kinds  of 
fancying  —  there's  fancying  that  is  all  fancy,  like 
fairy  stories,  and  there's  fancying  that  might  be  true 
and  real,  and  that  very  likely  is  true  and  real.  Do 
you  understand  ?  " 

"  Yes,"  said  Peggy,  drawing  a  deep  breath.  "  Well, 
mamma,  go  on  real-fancying,  please.  What's  that 
place  you've  been  at  —  Brat  —  what  is  it  ?  " 

"  Brackenshire,"  mamma  replied.  "  That's  the 
name  of  that  part  of  the  country  that  we  see  far  off, 
from  the  windows  upstairs." 

"  And  is  all  the  cottages  white  there,  and  is  they 
very  pretty?"  asked  Peggy,  with  deep  interest.  "  Oh, 
mamma,  do  tell  me,  quick." 

"I  don't  know  if  they're  all  white,  but  I  think 
they  are  mostly.  And  there  are  some  pretty  and 
some  ugly.  Of  course  it  depends  a  good  deal  upon 
the  people  that  live  in  them.  If  they're  nice,  clean, 
busy  people,  who  like  their  house  to  be  neat  and 
pretty,  and  work  hard  to  keep  it  so,  of  course  it's 
much  more  likely  to  be  so  than  if  they  were  careless 
and  lazy." 


47 

"  Oh,"  said  Peggy,  clasping  her  hands.  "  I  do  so 
hope  my  cottage  has  nice  people  living  in  it.  I  think 
it  has,  don't  you,  mamma  ?  It  looks  so  white." 

"My  dear  Peggy,"  said  mamma,  smiling,  "we 
can't  tell,  when  it's  so  far  away.  But  we  may  hope 
so." 

"  Yes,"  said  Peggy,  "  we'll  hope  so,  and  we'll  think 
so."  But  then  a  rather  puzzled  look  came  over  her 
face  again,  though  she  smiled  too.  "  Mamma,"  she 
went  on,  "  there's  such  a  funny  thing  come  into  my 
head,  only  I  don't  know  quite  how  to  say  it.  I  think 
that  the  far-away  helps  to  make  it  pretty  —  why  is 
far-away  so  pretty,  mamma  ?  " 

Mamma  smiled  again. 

"I'm  afraid  I  can't  tell  you  why.  Wouldn't  it 
spoil  some  things  if  we  knew  the  why  of  them,  little 
Peggy?" 

Peggy  did  not  answer.  This  was  another  new 
thought  for  her,  and  rather  a  difficult  one.  She  put 
it  away  in  her  mind,  in  one  of  the  rather  far  back 
cupboards  there,  and  locked  it  up,  to  think  about  it 
afterwards. 

"  Mamma,"  she  said,  coaxingly,  "  I  want  you  to  tell 
me  a  real  fancy  about  the  cottage.  It  will  be  so  nice 
when  I  look  at  it  to  think  it's  most  likely  reely  like 
that." 

"  Well,  then,  let  us  see,"  mamma  began. 

"  Wait  just  one  minute,  mamma  dear,  till  I've  shut 
my  eyes.  First  I  must  get  the  bluey  hills  and  the 


48  PEGGY:  A  NURSERY  STORY. 

white  spot  into  them,  and  then  I'll  shut  them  and  see 
what  you  tell.     Yes  —  that's  all  right  now." 

So  mamma  went  on. 

"  I  fancy  a  cottage  on  the  side  of  a  hill.  The  cot- 
tage is  white,  of  course,  and  the  hill  is  green.  Not 
very  green  —  a  kind  of  brown-green,  for  the  grass  is 
short  and  close,  nibbled  by  the  sheep  and  cows  that 
find  their  living  on  the  hill  most  of  the  year.  The 
cottage  is  very  white,  for  last  summer  it  had  a  nice 
wash  all  over,  and  that  lasts  clean  a  good  while  in  the 
country.  There  is  a  little  low  wall  round  it  shutting 
it  in  from  the  hillside,  and  this  wall  is  not  very  white, 
though  it  once  was  so,  for  it  is  covered  with  creeping 
plants,  so  that  you  can  scarcely  see  what  its  own 
colour  is.  At  the  front  of  the  house  there  is  a  little 
garden,  quite  a  tiny  one  —  there  are  .potatoes  and 
gooseberry  bushes  and  cabbages  at  one  side,  but  in 
front  of  them  are  some  nice  old-fashioned  flowers, 
and  at  the  other  side  there  are  strawberry  plants, 
and  behind  them  some  rose-bushes.  In  summer  I  am 
sure  there  will  be  some  pretty  roses." 

"  Oh  how  nice,"  'said  Peggy ;  "  go  on,  go  on, 
please." 

"  There  is  a  funny  little  wooden  shed  behind  the 
house,  leaning  against  the  wall,  which  has  a  door  big 
enough  for  a  child  to  go  in  by,  or  a  big  person  if  they 
stooped  down  very  much,  and  besides  this  it  has  a 
very  little  door  in  the  wall,  leading  on  to  the  hillside. 
Can  you  guess  what  the  shed  is  for,  Peggy,  and  what 
the  tiny  door  is  for  ?  " 


"REAL"  FANCIES.  49 

Peggy  thought  and  thought,  but  her  country 
knowledge  was  but  scanty. 

"  I  can't  think,"  she  said.  "  It  couldn't  be  for 
pigs,  'cos  there  isn't  any  in  the  cottage.  Nor  it 
couldn't  be  for  cows,  'cos  cows  is  so  big." 

"  What  should  you  say  to  cocks  and  hens,  Peggy  ? 
There  are'  to  be  fresh  eggs  there,  aren't  there  ?  And 
chickens  sometimes.  I  rather  think  they  take  eggs 
and  chickens  to  market,  don't  they  ?  " 

"  Oh  yes,  I'm  sure  they  do.  How  stupid  I  am ! 
Of  course  the  little  wooden  house  is  for  cocks  and 
hens.  You're  making  it  lovelily,  mamma.  What  is 
it  like  inside,  and  who  lives  in  it  ?  I  do  so  want  to 
know." 

"  Inside  ?  "  said  mamma.  "  I'm  almost  afraid  you 
might  be  disappointed,  Peggy,  if  you've  never  been 
in  a  real  cottage.  There  are  so  many  that  look  very 
pretty  outside  and  are  not  at  all  pretty  inside.  But 
at  least  we  may  think  it  is  neat  and  clean.  There 
are  only  two  rooms,  Peggy  —  a  kitchen  which  you  go 
straight  into,  and  another  room  which  opens  out  of 
it.  The  kitchen  is  very  bright  and  pleasant ;  there 
is  a  table  before  the  window  with  some  flower-pots 
on  it,  in  which  both  winter  and  summer  there  are 
plants  growing.  There  is  a  large  cupboard  of  dark 
old  wood  standing  against  the  wall,  and  a  sort  of  sofa 
that  is  called  a  settle  with  cushions  covered  with  red 
cotton,  standing  near  the  fireplace.  There  are  shelves, 
too,  on  which  stand  some  dishes  and  two  or  three 


50  PEGGY:    A   NURSERY    STORY. 

shining  pots  and  pans,  the  ugly  black  ones  are  kept 
in  a  little  back  kitchen  where  most  of  the  cooking  is 
done,  so  that  the  front  kitchen  should  be  kept  as  nice 
as  possible." 

"  That  makes  another  room,  mamma  dear.  You 
said  there  was  only  two." 

"  Oh,  but  it's  so  very  tiny  you  couldn't  call  it  a 
room.  The  second  room  is  a  bedroom,  but  the  best 
pieces  of  furniture  are  kept  there.  There  is  a  nice 
chest  of  drawers  and  a  rocking-chair,  and  there 
is  a  very  funny  wooden  cradle,  standing  right 
down  on  the  floor,  not  at  all  like  Baby's  cot. 
And  in  this  cradle  is  a  nice,  fat,  bright-eyed  little 
baby." 

"  A  baby,"  said  Peggy,  doubtfully. 

"  Yes,  to  be  sure.  There's  always  a  baby  in  a 
cottage,  unless  you'd  rather  have  a  very  old  couple 
whose  babies  are  grown-up  men  and  women,  out  in 
the  world." 

"  No,"  said  Peggy,  "  I  don't  want  that.  A  very 
old  woman  in  a  cottage  would  be  razer  like  a  witch, 
or  else  it  could  make  me  think  of  Ked  Riding-Hood's 
grandmother,  and  that  is  so  sad.  No,  I  don't  mind 
the  baby  if  it  has  a  nice  mamma  —  but  only  one 
baby,  pelease,  mamma  dear.  I  don't  want  lots,  like 
the  children  at  the  back,  they're  always  tumbling 
about  and  sc'eaming  so." 

"  Oh  no,  we  won't  have  it  like  that.  We'll  only 
have  one  baby  —  a  very  contented  nice  baby,  and  its 


"REAL"  FANCIES.  51 

mamma  is  very  nice  too.  She's  got  quite  a  pretty 
rosy  face,  and  she  stands  at  the  door  every  morning 
to  see  her  husband  go  oft'  to  his  work,  and  every 
evening  to  watch  for  him  coming  back  again,  and 
she  holds  the  baby  up  in  her  arms  and  it  laughs  and 
crows." 

"Yes,"  said  Peggy,  "that'll  do.  And  the  eggs 
and  the  chickens,  mamma  ?  " 

"  Oh  yes,  she  takes  great  care  of  the  cocks  and 
hens,  and  never  forgets  to  go  outside  the  garden  to 
feed  them  on  the  hill,  and  in  the  evening  they  all 
come  home  of  themselves  through  the  little  door  in 
the  wall.  There's  a  very  nice  cat  in  the  cottage  too ; 
it  sits  purring  on  the  front  steps  on  fine  days,  as  if  it 
thought  the  cottage  and  garden  and  everything  else 
belonged  to  it.  And  — 

But  suddenly  the  clock  struck.  Up  started 
mamma. 

"Peggy,  darling,  I  had  no  idea  it  was  so  late. 
And  I  have  to  go  out  the  moment  after  luncheon, 
and  I  have  still  two  letters  to  write.  I  am  a  greater 
baby  than  any  of  you  !  Run  off,  dear,  and  tell  nurse 
I  want  to  speak  to  her  before  I  go  out." 

"  And  to-morrow,"  said  Peggy,  "  to-morrow,  will 
you  tell  me  some  more  about  the  white  cottage, 
mamma  ?  It  is  so  nice  —  I  don't  think  you're  a  baby 
at  all,  mamma.  A  baby  couldn't  make  it  up  so 
lovelily." 

And  Peggy  set  off  upstairs  in  great  content.     The 


52          PEGGY:  A  NURSERY  STOEY. 

white  spot  would  give  her  more  pleasure  than  ever, 
now  that  she  knew  what  sort  of  real  fancies  to  have 
about  it. 

"  And  to-morrow,"  she  said  to  herself,  "  to-morrow 
mamma  will  tell  me  more,  lots  more.  If  I  say  my 
lessons  very  goodly,  p'raps  mamma  will  tell  me  some 
more  every  day.  And  p'raps  Hallie  would  like  those 
kinds  better  than  about  fairies,  and  wouldn't  call 
them  nonsense  stories." 

Poor  little  Peggy  —  "to-morrow"  brought  news 
which  put  her  pretty  fancies  about  the  white  cottage 
out  of  her  head  for  a  while. 

She  gave  her  mother's  message  to  nurse,  and  after 
dinner  nurse  went  downstairs.  When  she  came  up 
again  she  looked  rather  grave,  and  Peggy  thought 
perhaps  she  was  unhappy  about  Hal,  who  was  still 
cross  and  had  bright  red  spots  on  his  cheeks. 

"  Does  you  think  poor  Hallie  is  ill,  nurse  ? " 
asked  Peggy  in  a  low  voice,  for  Hal  not  to  hear. 

".No,  my  dear,  it's  only  his  teeth.  But  they'll 
make  him  fractious  for  a  while,  I'm  afraid,  and  he's 
not  a  very  strong  child,  not  near  so  strong  as  Baby 
and  the  big  boys." 

"  Poor  Hallie,"  said  Peggy,  with  great  sympathy. 
"  I'll  be  very  good  to  him  even  if  he  is  very  cross, 
nurse." 

Nurse  did  not  answer  for  a  minute,  and  she  still 
looked  very  grave. 

"  Why  do  you  look  so  sad,  nurse,  if  it  isn't  about 
Hal  ?  "  asked  Peggy,  impatiently. 


"REAL"  FANCIES.  53 

"  Did  I  look  sad,  Miss  Peggy  ?  I  didn't  know  it. 
I  was  thinking  about  some  things  your  mamma  was 
speaking  of  to  me." 

"  Oh  !  "  said  Peggy,  "  was  it  about  our  new  frocks  ? 
Mamma  and  you  is  always  very  busy  when  we  need 
new  frocks,  I  know." 

"  Yes,  dear,"  said  nurse,  but  that  was  all. 

Then  Peggy  and  Hal  and  nurse  and  Baby  went 
out  for  a^  walk.  They  did  not  go  very  far,  for  it  was 
what  nurse  called  a  queer-tempered  day.  Between 
the  gleams  of  blue  sky  and  sunshine  there  came 
sharp  little  storms  and  showers.  It  was  April 
weather,  though  April  had  not  yet  begun. 

"Which  way  are  we  going?"  Peggy  asked,  as 
they  set  off,  she  and  Hal  hand-in-hand,  just  in  front 
of  nurse  and  the  perambulator.  She  hoped  nurse 
would  say  "  up  Fernley  Road,"  because  Fernley  Road 
led  straight  on  towards  the  hills  —  so  at  least  it 
seemed  to  Peggy.  Their  street  ran  into  Fernley 
Road  at  one  end,  so  that  Fernley  Road  was  what  is 
called  at  right  angles  with  it,  and  Peggy  felt  sure 
that  if  you  walked  far  enough  along  the  road  you 
could  not  but  come  to  "  the  beginning  of  the  hills." 

But  to-day  Peggy  was  to  be  disappointed. 

"  We  can't  go  far,  Miss  Peggy,  and  we  must  go  to 
Field's  about  Master  Hal's  new  boots.  It  looks  as 
if  it  might  rain,  so  perhaps  we'd  better  go  straight 
there.  You  know  the  way,  Miss  Peggy?  —  right  on 
to  the  end  of  this  street  and  then  turn  to  the  left." 


54          PEGGY:  A  NURSERY  STORY. 


gave  a  little  sigh,  but  trotted  on  quietly. 
Hal  began  grumbling. 

"  What  is  I  to  have  new  boots  for  ?  "  he  said.  "  I 
doesn't  want  new  boots." 

uOh,  Hal,"  said  Peggy,  "I  think  it's  very  nice 
indeed  to  have  new  boots.  They  shine  so,  and  some- 
times they  do  make  such  a  lovely  squeaking." 

But  Hal  wasn't  in  a  humour  to  be  pleased  with 
anything,  so  Peggy  tried  to  change  the  subject. 

"  Nurse  says  we  are  to  turn  to  the  left  at  the  end 
of  this  street,"  she  said.  "  Does  you  know  which  is 
the  left,  Hal  ?  I  do,  'cos  of  my  pocket  in  my  frock. 
First  I  feel  for  my  pocket,  and  when  it's  there  I  say 
'all  right,'  and  then  I  know  that's  the  right,  and 
when  it  isn't  there  I  can't  say  'all  right,'  and  so  I 
know  the  side  it  isn't  at  is  the  left." 

Hal  listened  with  some  interest,  but  a  slight  tinge 
of  contempt  for  feminine  garments. 

"  Boys  has  pockets  at  each  sides,  so  all  boys'  sides 
is  right,"  he  said. 

But  Peggy  was  by  this  time  in  the  midst  of  her 
researches  for  her  pocket,  so  she  did  not  argue  the 
point. 

"  Here  it  is  !  "  she  exclaimed,  "  all  right,  so  the 
nother  side  is  left.  This  way,  Hallie,"  and  very 
proud  to  show  nurse  that  she  had  understood  her 
directions,  she  led  her  little  brother  down  the  street 
into  which  they  had  now  turned. 

There  were  shops  in  this  street,  which   made  it 


"REAL"  FANCIES.  55 

more  amusing  than  the  one  in  which  the  children 
lived,  even  though  they  had  seen  them  so  often  that 
they  knew  pretty  well  all  that  was  worth  looking  at 
in  the  windows  —  that  is  to  say,  in  the  picture-shops 
and  the  toy-shops,  and  perhaps  in  the  confectioner's. 
All  others  were  passed  by  as  a  matter  of  course. 
Field's,  the  shoemaker's,  was  not  quite  so  stupid  as 
some,  because  under  a  glass  shade,  in  the  midst  of 
all  the  real  boots  and  shoes,  were  half  a  dozen  pairs 
of  dolls'  ones,  which  Peggy  thought  quite  lovely, 
though  apparently  no  one  else  was  of  her  opinion, 
as  the  tiny  things  stayed  there  day  after  day  without 
a  single  pair  being  sold.  Peggy  herself  could  re- 
member them  for  what  seemed  to  her  a  very  long 
time,  and  Baldwin,  who  owned  to  having  admired 
them  when  he  was  "little,"  assured  her  they  had 
been  there  since  she  was  quite  a  baby;  he  could 
remember  having  "  run  on "  to  look  at  them  in  the 
days  when  he  and  Terry  had  trotted  in  front  and 
nurse  had  perambulated  Peggy  behind. 

The  little  boots  and  shoes  came  into  Peggy's  mind 
just  now,  partly  perhaps  because  Hal  was  hanging 
back  so,  and  she  was  afraid  he  would  be  cross  if  she 
asked  him  to  walk  quicker. 

"  Let's  run  on  and  look  at  the  tiny  shoes  in  Field's 
window,"  she  said.  "  We  can  *  wait  there  till  nurse 
comes  up  to  us.  She'll  see  us." 

This  roused  Hal  to  bestir  himself,  and  they  were 
soon  at  the  shoemaker's. 


56  PEGGY:    A  NURSERY   STORY. 

"Isn't  they  sweet?"  said  Peggy.  "If  I  had  a 
gold  pound  of  my  very  own,  Hal,  I'd  buy  some  of 
them." 

"Would  you?"  said  Hal,  doubtfully.  "No,  if  I 
had  a  gold  pound  I'd  —  " 

But  just  then  nurse  came  up  to  them  and  they 
were  all  marched  into  the  shop. 


CHAPTER    V. 

THE   LITTLE   RED   SHOES. 

"  Pif-paf  Pottrie,  what  trade  are  you  ?    Are  you  a  tailor  ?  " 
'  *  Better  still !  "     "A  shoemaker  ?  ' ' 

BROTHERS  GRIMM. 

THERE  was  another  reason  why  the  children  liked 
Field's  shop.  At  the  back  of  it  was  a  sort  of  little 
room  railed  off  by  a  low  wooden  partition  with  cur- 
tains at  the  top,  into  which  customers  were  shown  to 
try  on  and  be  fitted  with  new  boots  or  shoes.  This 
little  room  within  a  room  had  always  greatly  taken 
Peggy's  fancy ;  she  had  often  talked  it  over  with  her 
brothers,  and  wished  they  could  copy  it  in  their 
nursery.  Inside  it  had  comfortable  cushioned  seats 
all  round,  making  it  look  like  one  of  the  large, 
square,  cushioned  pews  still  to  be  found  in  some  old 
churches,  pews  which  all  children  who  have  ever  sat 
in  them  dearly  love. 

There  was  always  some  excitement  in  peeping 
into  this  little  room  to  see  if  any  one  was  already 
there  ;  if  that  were  the  case  the  children  knew  they 
should  have  to  be  "  tried  on "  in  the  outer  shop. 
To-day,  however,  there  was  no  doubt  about  the 
matter  —  Miss  Field,  who  acted  as  her  father's 

57 


58          PEGGY:  A  NURSERY  STORY. 

shopwoman,  marshalled  them  all  straight  into  the 
curtained  recess  without  delay ;  there  was  no  one 
there  —  and  when  Peggy  and  Hal  had  with  some 
difficulty  twisted  themselves  on  to  the  seats  with 
as  much  formality  as  if  they  were  settling  them- 
selves in  church,  and  nurse  had  explained  what 
they  had  come  for,  the  girl  began  operations  by 
taking  off  one  of  Hal's  boots  to  serve  as  a  pattern 
for  his  size. 

"  The  same  make  as  these,  I  suppose  ? "  she 
asked. 

"No,  miss,  a  little  thicker,  I  think.  They're  to 
be  good  strong  ones  for  country  wear,"  said  nurse. 

Peggy  looked  up  with  surprise. 

"  For  the  country,  nursie,"  she  said.  "  He'll  have 
weared  them  out  before  it's  time  for  us  to  go  to 
the  country.  It  won't  be  summer  for  a  long  while, 
and  last  year  we  didn't  go  even  when  summer 
corned." 

Nurse  looked  a  little  vexed.  Miss  Field,  though 
smiling  and  good-natured,  was  not  a  special  favourite 
of  nurse's  ;  she  was  too  fond  of  talking,  and  she 
stood  there  now  looking  very  much  amused  at 
Peggy's  remonstrance. 

"  If  you  didn't  go  to  the  country  last  year,  Miss 
Margaret,"  said  nurse,  "more  reason  that  you'll  go 
this.  But  little  girls  can't  know  everything." 

Peggy  opened  her  eyes  and  her  mouth.  She  was 
just  going  to  ask  nurse  what  was  the  matter,  which 


THE   LITTLE   KED   SHOES.  59 

would  not  have  made  things  better,  I  am  afraid,  when 
Baby  changed  the  subject  by  bursting  out  crying. 
Poor  Baby — he  did  not  like  the  little  curtained-off 
room  at  all ;  it  was  rather  dark,  and  he  felt  fright- 
ened, and  as  was  of  course  the  most  sensible  thing  to 
do  under  the  circumstances,  as  he  could  not  speak, 
he  cried. 

"  Dear,  dear,"  said  nurse,  after  vainly  trying  to 
soothe  him,  "  he  doesn't  like  being  in  here,  the  poor 
lamb.  He's  frightened.  I'll  never  get  him  quiet 
here.  Miss  Peggy,  love,"  forgetting  in  her  hurry 
the  presence  of  Miss  Field,  for  before  strangers 
Peggy  was  always  "  Miss  Margaret "  with  nurse,  "  I'll 
have  to  put  him  back  in  his  perambulator  at  the 
door,  and  if  you'll  stand  beside  him  he'll  be  quite 
content." 

And  nurse  got  up  as  she  spoke.  Peggy  slid  her- 
self down  slowly  and  reluctantly  from  her  seat ;  she 
would  have  liked  to  stay  and  watch  Hal  being  fitted 
with  boots,  and  she  would  have  liked  still  more  to 
ask  nurse  what  she  meant  by  speaking  of  the  country 
so  long  before  the  time,  but  it  was  Peggy's  habit 
to  do  what  she  was  told  without  delay,  and  she 
knew  she  could  ask  nurse  what  she  wanted  after- 
wards. So  with  one  regretful  look  back  at  the  snug 
corner  where  Hal  was  sitting  comfortably  staring  at 
his  stockinged  toes,  she  trotted  across  the  shop  to  the 
door  where  Baby,  quite  restored  to  good  humour, 
was  being  settled  in  his  carriage. 


60  PEGGY:  A  NURSERY  STORY. 

"  There  now,  he'll  be  quite  happy.  Nurse  will 
come  soon,  dear.  Just  let  him  stay  here  in  the 
doorway ;  he  can  see  all  the  boots  and  shoes  in  the 
window  —  that  will  amuse  him." 

"  Yes,"  said  Peggy,  adding  in  her  own  mind  that 
she  would  have  a  good  look  at  the  dear,  tiny  dolls' 
ones  and  fix  which  she  would  like  to  buy  if  she  had 
the  money. 

Baby  did  not  interrupt  her ;  he  was  quite  content 
now  he  was  out  in  the  light  and  the  open  air,  and 
amused  himself  after  his  own  fashion  by  crowing 
and  chuckling  to  the  passers-by.  So  Peggy  stood 
still,  her  eyes  fixed  on  the  baby  shoes.  They  were 
of  all  colours,  black  and  red  and  bronze  and  blue  — 
it  was  difficult  to  say  which  were  the  prettiest. 
Peggy  had  almost  decided  upon  a  red  pair,  and  was 
wondering  how  much  money  it  would  take  to  buy 
them,  when  some  one  touched  her  on  the  shoulder. 
She  looked  up;  a  lady  was  standing  behind  her, 
smiling  in  amusement. 

"What  are  you  gazing  at  so,  my  dear?  Is  this 
your  baby  in  the  perambulator?  You  had  better 
wheel  him  a  little  bit  further  back,  or  may  I  do  so 
for  you?  —  he  has  worked  himself  too  far  into  the 
doorway." 

Peggy  looked  up  questioningly  in  the  lady's  face. 
Like  many  children  she  did  not  like  being  spoken  to 
by  strangers  in  any  unceremonious  way ;  she  felt  as 
if  it  were  rather  a  freedom. 


~-\T 


evb    did   not 


n£  WAS  cjuif 
tint  now  V\i  w£vs 
out  in  thi  I  i'o~kf" 
and  fhi  obin  air, 
and  &mix5id  nim-- 


silf  cNftir  riis    own  jAskion  Ly  crowing  and 

Stood   sti'll,  Intr  tyis    fixsol  on  ths  bjxby 
ty    WLV£    of  all  colours,  (sl^ck  z^n 

and  blui—  if  wc\s  diffiQu.^  to  5£v 
tint    prittitsf,   *'  pt6o 


THE  LITTLE  BED   SHOES.  61 

But  the  face  that  met  hers  was  too  kind  and 
bright  and  pleasant  to  resist,  and  though  Peggy  still 
looked  grave,  it  was  only  that  she  felt  rather  shy. 

"Yes,"  she  said,  "he's  our  baby.  I  was  looking 
at  those  sweet  little  shoes.  I  didn't  see  Baby  had 
pushed  hisself  away.  Thank  you,"  as  the  lady 
gently  moved  the  perambulator  a  little  farther  to 
one  side. 

"  You  and  Baby  are  not  alone  ?  Are  you  waiting 
for  some  one  ?  "  she  asked. 

"Nurse  is  having  Hal  tried  on  for  new  boots," 
Peggy  replied,  "and  Baby  didn't  like  the  shop  'cos 
it  were  rather  dark." 

"And  so  his  kind  little  sister  is  taking  care  of 
him.  I  see,"  said  the  lady.  "And  what  are  the 
sweet  little  shoes  you  like  so  much  to  look  at?  Are 
they  some  that  would  fit  Baby  ?  " 

"Oh  no,"  said  Peggy,  "they'd  be  too  little  for 
him.  Baby  is  rather  fat.  Oh  no,  it's  those  under 
the  glass  basin  turned  upside  down,"  and  she  pointed 
to  the  dolls'  shoes.  "Aren't  they  lovely?  I've  seen 
them  ever  since  I  was  quite  little  —  I  suppose  they'd 
cost  a  great  lot,"  and  Peggy  sighed. 

"  Which  do  you  think  the  prettiest?"  asked  the 
lady. 

"  The  red  ones,"  Peggy  replied. 

"  Well,  I  almost  think  I  agree  with  you,"  said  the 
lady.  "  Good-bye,  my  dear,  don't  let  Baby  run  him- 
self out  into  the  street."  And  with  a  kind  smile 
she  went  on  into  the  shop. 


62  PEGGY:  A  NUKSERY  STORY. 

She  passed  back  again  in  a  few  minutes. 

"Still  there?"  she  said,  nodding  to  Peggy,  and 
then  she  made  her  way  down  the  street  and  was 
soon  out  of  sight.  Peggy's  attention,  since  the  lady 
had  warned  her,  had  been  entirely  given  to  Baby, 
otherwise  she  might  perhaps  have  noticed  a  very 
wonderful  thing  that  had  happened  in  the  shop- 
window.  The  pair  of  red  dolls'  shoes  was  no  longer 
there!  They  had  been  quietly  withdrawn  from  the 
case  in  which  they,  with  their  companions,  had  spent 
a  peaceful,  but  it  must  be  allowed  a  rather  dull  life 
for  some  years. 

In  another  minute  nurse  and  Hal  made  their 
appearance,  and  Hal  had  a  parcel,  which  he  Avas 
clutching  tightly  in  both  hands. 

"  My  new  boots  is  so  shiny,"  he  said,  "  I  do  so 
hope  they'll  squeak.  Does  you  think  they  will, 
nursie?  But  isn't  poor  Peggy  to  have  new  boots, 
too  ?  Poor  Peggy  !  " 

Peggy  looked  down  at  her  feet. 

"Mine  isn't  wored  out  yet,"  she  said;  "it  would 
take  all  poor  mamma's  money  to  buy  new  boots  for 
us  all." 

"Never  fear,"  said  nurse,  who  heard  rather  a 
martyr  tone  in  Peggy's  voice,  "you'll  not  be  for- 
gotten, Miss  Peggy.  But  Master  Hal,  hadn't  you 
better  put  your  boots  in  the  perambulator  ?  You'll 
be  tired  of  carrying  them,  for  we're  not  going  straight 
home." 


THE  LITTLE  KED   SHOES.  63 

Hal  looked  as  if  he  were  going  to  grumble  at  this, 
but  before  he  had  time  to  say  anything,  Miss  Field 
came  hurrying  oat  of  the  shop. 

"  Oh,  you're  still  here,"  she  said ;  "  that's  all  right. 
The  lady  who's  just  left  told  father  to  give  this  little 
parcel  to  missie  here,"  and  she  held  out  something 
to  Peggy,  who  was  so  astonished  that  for  a  moment 
or  two  she  only  stared  at  the  girl  without  offering  to 
take  the  tiny  packet. 

"  For  me,"  she  said  at  last. 

"  Yes,  missie,  to  be  sure  —  for  you,  as  I  say." 

Peggy  took  the  parcel,  and  began  slowly  to  undo 
it.  Something  red  peeped  out  —  Peggy's  eyes  glis- 
tened—  then  her  cheeks  grew  nearly  as  scarlet  as  the 
contents  of  the  packet,  and  she  seemed  to  gasp  for 
breath,  as  she  held  out  for  Hal  and  nurse  to  see  the 
little  red  shoes  which  five  minutes  before  she  had 
been  admiring  under  the  glass  shade. 

"Nursie,  Hal,"  she  exclaimed,  usee,  oh  see!  The 
sweet  little  shoes  —  for  me  — for  my  very  own." 

Nurse  was  only  too  ready  to  be  pleased,  but  with 
the  prudence  of  a  "grown-up"  person  she  hesitated 
a  moment. 

"Are  you  sure  there's  no  mistake,  miss?"  she 
said,  anxiously.  "  Do  you  know  the  lady's  name  ? 
Is  she  a  friend  of  Missis's,  I  wonder  ?  " 

The  girl  shook  her  head. 

"  Can't  say,  I'm  sure,"  she  replied.  "  She's  a 
stranger  to  us.  She  only  just  bought  a  pair  of  cork 


64          PEGGY:  A  NUKSEHY  STORY. 

soles  and  these  here.  There's  no  mistake,  that  I'm 
sure  of.  She  must  have  seen  the  young  lady  was 
admiring  of  them." 

"  Yes,"  said  Peggy,  "  she  asked  me  which  was  the 
prettiest,  and  I  said  the  red  ones." 

"  You  see  ?  "  said  Miss  Field  to  nurse.  "  Well, 
missie,  I  hope  as  they'll  fit  Miss  Dolly,  and  then 
you'll  give  us  your  custom  when  they're  worn  out, 
won't  you  ?  " 

And  with  a  good-natured  laugh  she  turned  back 
into  the  shop. 

"  It's  all  right,  nursie,  isn't  it  ?  Do  say  it  is.  I 
may  keep  them;  they  is  mine,  isn't  they?"  said 
Peggy,  in  very  unusual  excitement. 

Nurse  still  looked  undecided. 

"I  don't  quite  know  what  to  say,  my  dear,"  she 
replied.  "  We  must  ask  your  mamma.  I  shouldn't 
think  she'd  object,  seeing  as  it  was  so  kindly  meant. 
And  we  can't  give  back  the  shoes  now  they're  bought 
and  paid  for.  It  wouldn't  be  fair  to  the  lady  to  give 
them  back  to  Field  just  to  be  sold  again.  It  wasn't 
him  she  wanted  to  give  a  present  to." 

"No,"  said  Peggy,  trotting  along  beside  the  per- 
ambulator and  clasping  her  little  parcel  as  Hal  was 
clasping  his  bigger  one,  "it  was  me  she  wanted  to 
please.  She's  a  very  kind  lady,  isn't  she,  nursie? 
I'm  sure  they  cost  a  great  lot  of  money  —  p'raps  a 
pound.  Oh!  I  do  so  hope  mamma  will  say  I  may 
keep  them  for  my  very  own.  Can't  we  go  home  now 
this  minute  to  ask  her?" 


THE  LITTLE  BED   SHOES.  65 

"  We  shouldn't  find  her  in  if  we  did,"  said  nurse, 
"  and  we've  had  nothing  of  a  walk  so  far.  But  don't 
you  worry,  Miss  Peggy.  I'm  sure  your  mamma  will 
not  mind." 

Peggy's  anxious  eager  little  face  calmed  down  at 
this ;  a  corner  of  the  paper  in  which  her  treasures 
were  wrapped  up  was  torn.  She  saw  the  scarlet 
leather  peeping  out,  and  a  gleam  of  delight  danced 
out  of  her  eyes ;  she  bent  her  head  down  and  kissed 
the  speck  of  bright  colour  ecstatically,  murmuring 
to  herself  as  she  did  so,  "  Oh,  how  happy  I  am !  " 

Nurse  overheard  the  words. 

"  Missis  will  never  have  the  heart  to  take  them 
from  her,  poor  dear,'*  she  thought.  "  She'll  be  only 
too  pleased  for  Miss  Peggy  to  have  something  to 
cheer  her  up  when  she  has  to  be  told  about  our 
going." 

And  Peggy,  in  blissful  ignorance  of  any  threaten- 
ing cloud  to  spoil  her  pleasure,  marched  on,  scarcely 
feeling  the  ground  beneath  her  feet ;  as  happy  as  if 
the  tiny  red  shoes  had  been  a  pair  of  fairy  ones  to 
fit  her  own  little  feet. 

Mamma  was  not  at  home  when  they  got  in,  even 
though  they  made  a  pretty  long  round,  coming  back 
by  Fernley  Road,  which,  however,  Peggy  did  not 
care  about  as  much  as  when  they  set  off  by  it.  For 
coming  back,  of  course,  she  could  not  see  the  hills 
without  turning  round,  nor  could  she  have  the  feel- 
ing that  every  step  was  taking  her  nearer  to  them. 


66  PEGGY:    A   NURSERY   STORY. 

The  weather  was  clearing  when  they  came  in ;  from 
the  nursery  window  the  sky  towards  the  west  had  a 
faint  flush  upon  it,  which  looked  as  if  the  sunset 
were  going  to  be  a  rosy  one. 

"Red  at  night,"  Peggy  said  to  herself  as  she 
glanced  out ;  "  nursie,  that  means  a  fine  day,  doesn't 
it?" 

"  So  they  say,"  nurse  replied. 

"  Then  it'll  be  a  fine  day  to-morrow,  and  I'll  see 
the  cottage,  and  I'll  put  the  little  shoes  on  the 
window-sill,  so  that  they  shall  see  it  too  —  the  dear 
little  sweets,"  chattered  the  child  to  herself. 

Hal  meanwhile  was  seated  on  the  floor,  engaged 
in  a  more  practical  way,  namely,  trying  to  try  on  his 
new  boots.  But  "  new  boots,"  as  he  said  himself,  "  is 
stiff."  Hal  pulled  and  tugged  till  he  grew  very  red 
in  the  face,  but  all  in  vain. 

"  Oh,  Peggy  !  "  he  said,  "  do  help  me.  I  does  so 
want  to  hear  them  squeak,  and  to  'upprise  the  boys 
when  they  come  in." 

Down  went  kind  Peggy  on  the  floor,  and  thanks 
to  her  the  boots  were  got  on,  though  the  buttoning 
of  them  was  beyond  her  skill.  Hal  was  quite  happy, 
though. 

"  They  do  squeak,  don't  they,  Peggy  ?  "  he  said ; 
"  and  nurse'll  let  me  wear  them  a  little  for  them  to 
get  used  to  my  feet  'afore  we  go  to  the  country." 

44  You  mean  for  your  feet  to  get  used  to  them, 
Hallie,"  said  Peggy.  "  But  there's  lots  of  time  for 


THE  LITTLE  BED   SHOES.  67 

that.  Why,  they'll  be  half  wored  out  before  we  go 
to  the  country  if  you  begin  them  now." 

"  Tisn't  nonsense,"  said  Hal,  sturdily.  "  Nurse 
said  so  to  that  girl  in  the  shop." 

Peggy  felt  very  puzzled. 

"But,  Hal,"  she  was  beginning,  when  a  voice 
interrupted  her.  It  was  nurse.  She  had  been  down- 
stairs, having  heard  the  front  door  bell  ring. 

"  Miss  Peggy,  your  mamma  wants  you.  She's 
come  in.  You'll  find  her  in  her  own  room." 

"  Nursie,"  she  said,  "  Hal's  been  saying  — 

"You  mustn't  keep  your  mamma  waiting,"  said 
nurse.  "  I've  told  her  about  the  little  shoes." 

"  I'll  take  them  to  show  her  —  won't  she  be 
pleased  ?  "  said  Peggy,  seizing  the  little  parcel  which 
she  had  put  down  while  helping  Hal. 

And  off  she  set. 

She  stopped  at  her  mother's  door ;  it  was  only  half 
shut,  so  she  did  not  need  to  knock. 

"  Mamma  dear,  it's  me  —  Peggy,"  she  said. 

"  Come  in,  darling,"  mamma's  voice  replied. 

"I've  brought  you  the  sweet  little  red  shoes  to 
see,"  said  Peggy,  carefully  unfolding  the  paper  which 
held  her  treasures,  and  holding  them  out  for  mamma's 
admiration. 

"  They  are  very  pretty  indeed  —  really  lovely  little 
shoes,"  she  said,  handling  them  with  care,  but  so  as 
to  see  them  thoroughly.  "  It  was  very  kind  of  that 
lady.  I  wonder  who  she  was  ?  Of  course  in  a  gen- 


68  PEGGY:  A  NURSERY  STORY. 

eral  way  I  wouldn't  like  you  to  take  presents  from 
strangers,  but  she  must  have  done  it  in  such  a  very 
nice  way.  Was  she  an  old  lady,  Peggy  ?  " 

"  Oh  yes  ! "  said  Peggy,  "  quite  old.  She  was 
neely  as  big  as  you,  mamma  dear.  I  dare  say  she's 
neely  as  old  as  you  are." 

Mamma  began  to  laugh. 

"  You  little  goose,"  she  said.  But  Peggy  didn't 
see  anything  to  laugh  at  in  what  she  had  said,  and 
her  face  remained  quite  sober. 

"  I  don't  understand  you,  mamma  dear,"  she  said. 

"  Well,  listen  then ;  didn't  Hal  buy  a  pair  of  new 
boots  for  himself  to-day?"  mamma  began. 

"  No,  mamma  dear.  Nurse  buyed  them  for  he," 
Peggy  replied. 

"  Or  rather  /  bought  them,  for  it  was  my  money 
nurse  paid  for  them  with,  if  you  are  so  very  precise, 
Miss  Peggy.  But  never  mind  about  that.  All  I 
want  you  to  understand  is  the  difference  between 
4  big '  and  '  old.'  Hal's  boots  are  much  bigger  than 
these  tiny  things,  but  they  are  not  on  that  account 
older." 

Peggy  began  to  laugh. 

"  No,  mamma  dear.  P'raps  Hallie's  boots  is 
younger  than  my  sweet  little  red  shoes,  for  they 
has  been  a  great  long  while  in  the  shop  window,  and 
Baldwin  and  Terry  sawed  them  when  they  was 
little." 

"  Not  4  younger,'  Peggy  dear  ;  *  newer,'  you  mean. 


THE   LITTLE   BED   SHOES.  69 

Boots  aren't  alive.  You  only  speak  of  live  things  as 
4  young.' " 

Peggy  sighed. 

"  It  is  rather  difficult  to  understand,  mamma  dear." 

"It  will  all  come  by  degrees,"  said  mamma. 
"  When  I  was  a  little  girl  I  know  I  thought  for 
a  long  time  that  the  moon  was  the  mamma  of 
the  stars,  because  she  looked  so  much  bigger." 

"  I  think  that's  very  nice,  mamma,  though,  of 
course,  I  understand  it's  only  a  fancy  fancy.  I 
haven't  seen  the  moon  for  a  long  time,  mamma. 
May  I  ask  nurse  to  wake  me  up  the  next  time  the 
moon  comes  ?  " 

"  You  needn't  wait  till  dark  to  see  the  moon," 
said  mamma.  "  She  can  often  be  seen  by  daylight, 
though,  of  course,  she  doesn't  look  so  pretty  then,  as 
in  the  dark  sky  which  shows  her  off  better.  But, 
of  course,  the  sky  here  is  so  often  dull  with  the 
smoke  of  the  town  that  we  can't  see  her  as  clearly 
in  the  daytime  as  where  the  air  is  purer." 

"  Like  in  the  country,  mamma,"  said  Peggy.  "  It's 
always  clear  in  the  country,  isn't  it?" 

"  Not  quite  always,"  said  mamma,  smiling.  "  But, 
Peggy  dear,  speaking  of  the  country  —  " 

"  Oh  yes  !  "  Peggy  interrupted,  "  I  want  to  tell 
you,  mamma,  what  a  silly  thing  Hallie  would  say 
about  going  to  the  country ; "  and  she  told  her 
mother  all  that  Hal  had  said  about  his  boots,  and 
indeed  what  nurse  had  said  too  ;  "  and  nursie  was 


70          PEGGY:  A  NURSERY  STORY. 

just  a  weeny,  teeny  bit  cross  to  me,  mamma  dear," 
said  Peggy,  plaintively.  "She  wouldn't  say  she'd 
mistooked  about  it." 

Mamma  looked  rather  grave,  and  instead  of  saying 
at  once  that  of  course  nurse  had  only  meant  that 
Hal's  boots  should  last  till  the  summer,  she  took 
Peggy  on  her  knee  and  kissed  her  —  kissed  her  in 
rather  a  "  funny  "  way,  thought  Peggy,  so  that  she 
looked  up  and  said  — 

"  Mamma  dear,  why  do  you  kiss  me  like  that  ?  " 

Instead  of  answering,  mamma  kissed  her  again, 
which  almost  made  Peggy  laugh. 

But  mamma  was  not  laughing. 

"My  own  little  Peggy,"  she  said,  "I  have  some- 
thing to  tell  you  which  I  am  afraid  will  make  you 
unhappy.  It  is  making  me  very  unhappy,  I  know." 

"  Poor  dear  little  mamma,"  said  Peggy,  and  as 
she  spoke  she  put  up  her  little  hand  and  stroked 
her  mother's  face.  "  Don't  be  unhappy  if  it  isn't 
anything  very  bad.  Tell  Peggy  about  it,  mamma 
dear." 


CHAPTER  VI. 

FELLOW-FEELINGS    AND    SLIPPERS. 

"If  I'd  as  much  money  as  I  could  tell 
I  never  would  cry  '  old  clothes  to  sell ' !  " 

LONDON  CRIES. 

MAMMA  hesitated  a  moment.     Then  she  began. 

"  You  know,  Peggy,  my  pet,"  she  said,  "for  a  good 
while  now  I  haven't  been  as  strong  and  well  as  I 
used  to  be  —  " 

"  Stop,  mamma,  stop,"  said  Peggy,  with  a  sort  of 
cry,  and  as  she  spoke  she  threw  up  her  hands  and 
pressed  them  hard  against  her  ears ;  "  I  know  what 
you're  going  to  say,  but  I  can't  bear  it,  no,  I  can't. 
Oh  mamma,  you're  not  to  say  you're  going  to  die." 

For  all  answer  mamma  caught  Peggy  into  her 
arms  and  kissed  her  again  and  again.  For  a  minute 
or  two  it  seemed  as  if  she  could  not  speak,  but  at 
last  she  got  her  voice.  And  then,  rather  to  Peggy's 
surprise,  she  saw  that  although  there  were  tears  in 
mamma's  eyes,  and  even  one  or  two  trickling  down 
her  face,  she  was  smiling  too. 

"My  darling  Peggy,"  she  said,  "did  I  frighten 
you  ?  I  am  so,  so  sorry.  Oh  no,  darling,  it  is  noth- 
ing like  that.  Please  God  I  shall  live  to  see  my 

71 


72          PEGGY:  A  NURSERY  STORY. 

Peggy  as  old  as  I  am  now,  and  older,  I  hope.  No, 
no,  dear,  it  is  nothing  so  very  sad  I  was  going  to  tell 
you.  It  is  only  that  the  doctor  says  the  best  way  for 
me  to  get  quite  well  and  strong  again  is  to  go  away 
for  a  while  to  have  change  of  air  as  it  is  called,  in 
some  nice  country  place." 

"  In  the  country,"  said  Peggy,  her  eyes  brighten- 
ing with  pleasure.  "  Oh,  how  nice  !  will  it  perhaps 
be  that  country  where  my  cottage  is?  Oh,  dear 
mamma,  how  lovely!  And  when  are  we  to  go? 
May  we  begin  packing  to-day  ?  And  how  could  you 
think  it  would  make  me  unhappy — "  she  went  on, 
suddenly  remembering  what  her  mother  had  said  at 
first. 

Mamma's  face  did  not  brighten  up  at  all. 

"  Peggy  dear,  it  is  very  hard  for  me  to  tell  you," 
she  said.  "  Of  course,  if  we  had  all  been  going  to- 
gether it  would  have  been  only  happy.  But  that's 
just  the  thing.  I  can't  take  you  with  me,  my  sweet. 
Baby  must  go,  because  nurse  must,  and  Hallie  too. 
But  the  friend  I  am  going  to  stay  with  can't  have 
more  of  us  than  the  two  little  ones,  and  nurse,  and 
me  —  it  is  very,  very  good  of  her  to  take  so  many." 

"  Couldn't  I  sleep  \vith  you,  mamma  dear  ?  "  said 
Peggy  in  a  queer  little  voice,  the  tone  of  which  went 
to  mamma's  heart. 

"  My  pet,  Hallie  must  sleep  with  me,  as  it  is.  My 
friend's  house  isn't  very  big.  And  there's  another 
reason  why  I  can't  take  you  —  I'm  not  sure  if  you 
could  understand  —  " 


FELLOW-FEELINGS   AND   SLIPPERS.  73 

"  Tell  it  me,  please,  mamma." 

"  The  lady  I  am  going  to  had  a  little  girl  just  like 
yOU  —  I  mean  just  the  same  age,  and  rather  like  you 
altogether,  I  think.  And  the  poor  little  girl  died 
two  years  ago,  Peggy.  Since  then  it  is  a  pain  to  her 
mother  to  see  other  little  girls.  When  you  are  big- 
ger and  not  so  like  what  her  little  girl  was,  I  dare  say 
she  won't  mind." 

Peggy  had  been  listening,  her  whole  soul  in  her 
eyes. 

"  I  understand,"  she  said.  "  I  wouldn't  like  to  go 
if  it  would  make  that  lady  cry  —  if  it  hadn't  been  for 
that  —  oh  mamma,  I  could  have  squeezed  myself  up 
so  very  tight  in  the  bed  !  You  and  Hallie  wouldn't 
have  knowed  I  were  there.  But  I  wouldn't  like  to 
make  her  cry.  I  am  so  sorry  about  that  little  girl. 
Mamma,  how  is  it  that  dying  is  so  nice,  about  going 
to  heaven,  you  know,  and  still  it  is  so  sorry  ?  " 

"  There  is  the  parting,"  said  mamma. 

"  Yes  —  that  must  be  it.  And,  mamma,  I  hope  it 
isn't  naughty,  but  if  you  were  to  die  I'd  be  very  sorry 
not  to  see  you  again  just  the  same  —  even  if  you 
were  to  be  a  very  pretty  angel,  with  shiny  clothes 
and  all  that,  I'd  want  you  to  be  my  own  old 
mamma." 

"  I  would  be  your  own  old  mamma,  dear.  I  am 
sure  you  would  feel  I  was  the  same." 

"I'm  so  glad,"  said  Peggy.  "Still  it  is  sad  to 
die,"  and  she  sighed.  "  Mamma  dear,  you  won't  be 


74          PEGGY:  A  NURSERY  STORY. 

very  long  away,  will  you  ?  It'll  only  be  a  little  short 
parting,  won't  it?" 

"  Only  a  few  weeks,  dear.  And  I  hope  you  won't 
be  unhappy  even  though  you  must  be  a  little  lonely." 

"  If  only  I  had  a  sister,"  said  Peggy. 

But  mamma  went  on  to  tell  her  all  she  had 
planned.  Miss  Earnshaw,  a  dressmaker  who  used 
sometimes  to  come  and  sew,  was  to  be  with  Peggy 
as  much  as  she  could.  She  was  a  gentle,  nice  girl, 
and  Peggy  liked  her. 

"  She  has  several  things  to  make  for  me  just  now," 
said  mamma,  "  and  as  she  lives  near,  she  will  try  to 
come  every  day,  so  that  she  will  be  with  you  at  din- 
ner and  tea.  And  Fanny  will  help  you  to  dress  and 
undress,  and  either  she  or  Miss  Earnshaw  will  take 
you  a  walk  every  day  that  it  is  fine  enough.  And 
then  in  the  evenings,  of  course,  the  boys  will  be  at 
home,  and  papa  will  see  you  every  morning  before 
he  goes." 

"  And  I  dare  say  he'll  come  up  to  see  me  in  bed  at 
night  too,"  said  Peggy.  Then  she  was  silent  for  a 
minute  or  two;  the  truth  was,  I  think,  that  she  was 
trying  hard  to  swallow  down  a  lump  in  her  throat 
that  would  come,  and  to  blink  away  two  or  three 
tiresome  tears  that  kept  creeping  up  to  her  eyes. 

Two  days  later  and  they  were  gone.  Mamma, 
nurse,  Hal,  and  Baby,  with  papa  to  see' them  off,  and 
two  boxes  outside  the  cab,  and  of  course  a  whole  lot 
of  smaller  packages  inside. 


FELLOW-FEELINGS   AND   SLIPPERS.  75 

Peggy  stood  at  the  front-door,  nodding  and  kissing 
her  hand  and  making  a  smile,  as  broad  a  one  as  she 
possibly  could,  to  show  that  she  was  not  crying. 

When  they  were  gone,  really  gone,  and  Fanny  had 
shut  the  door,  she  turned  kindly  to  Peggy. 

"  Now,  Miss  Peggy,  love,  what  will  you  do  ?  Miss 
Earnshaw  won't  be  here  till  to-morrow.  I'll  try  to 
be  ready  so  as  to  take  you  out  this  afternoon  if  it's 
fine,  for  it's  not  a  half-holiday.  It'd  be  very  dull  for 
you  all  day  alone  —  to-morrow  the  young  gentlemen 
will  be  at  home  as  it's  Saturday." 

A  bright  idea  struck  Peggy. 

"  Fanny,"  she  said,  "  did  mamma  or  nurse  say  any- 
thing about  soap-bubbles  ?  " 

Fanny  shook  her  head. 

"  No,  miss.  But  I'm  sure  there'd  be  no  objection 
to  your  playing  at  them  if  you  liked.  I  can  easy  get 
a  little  basin  and  some  soap  and  water  for  you.  But 
have  you  a  pipe  ?  " 

Peggy  shook  her  head. 

"It  isn't  for  me,  Fanny,  thank  you,"  she  said. 
"  It's  for  my  brothers  most.  I'd  like  to  make  a  sur- 
prise for  them  while  mamma's  away." 

"  Yes,  that  would  be  very  nice,"  said  Fanny,  who 
had  been  charged  at  all  costs  to  make  Peggy  happy. 
"  We'll  talk  about  it.  But  I'd  better  get  on  with  my 
work,  so  as  to  get  out  a  bit  this  afternoon." 

"  Very  well.  I'll  go  up  to  the  nursery,"  said  the 
little  girl. 


76  PEGGY:  A  NURSERY  STORY. 

The  nursery  seemed  very  strange.  Peggy  had 
never  seen  it  look  quite  so  empty.  Not  only  were 
nurse  and  the  little  ones  gone,  but  it  seemed  as  if 
everything  belonging  to  them  had  gone  too,  for  nurse 
had  sat  up  late  the  night  before  and  got  up  very 
early  this  same  morning  to  put  everything  into 
perfect  order  before  leaving.  The  tidiness  was  quite 
unnatural.  Peggy  sat  down  in  a  corner  and  gave  a 
deep  sigh.  Just  then  she  did  not  even  care  to  turn 
to  the  window,  where  the  sunshine  was  pouring  in 
brightly,  sparkling  on  the  two  little  scarlet  shoes, 
standing  side  by  side  on  the  sill,  where  Peggy  placed 
them  every  fine  morning,  that  they  might  enjoy  the 
sight  of  the  white  cottage  on  the  hill ! 

"  I  almost  wish  it  was  raining,"  she  half  whispered 
to  herself,  till  she  remembered  how  very  disagreeable 
a  wet  day  would  have  been  for  mamma  and  the 
others  to  travel  on.  "  I  hope  it  will  be  a  sunny  day 
when  they  come  back,"  she  added,  as  a  sort  of 
make-up  for  her  forgetfulness. 

And  then  she  got  up  and  wandered  into  the  other 
room.  Here  one  of  Hal's  old  shoes  which  had  fallen 
out  of  a  bundle  of  things  to  be  given  away  which 
nurse  had  taken  downstairs  just  before  going,  was 
lying  on  the  floor.  Peggy  stooped  and  picked  it  up. 
How  well  she  knew  the  look  of  Hal's  shoes ;  there 
was  the  round  bump  of  his  big  toe,  and  the  hole  at 
the  corner  where  a  bit  of  his  red  sock  used  to  peep 
out!  It  gave  her  a  strange  dreamy  feeling  as  she 


FELLOW-FEELINGS   AND   SLIPPERS.  77 

looked  at  it.  It  seemed  as  if  it  could  not  be  true 
that  Hallie  was  far  away  —  "  far,  far  away  "  by  this 
time,  thought  Peggy,  for  she  always  felt  as  if  the 
moment  people  were  in  the  railway  they  were  whizzed 
off  hundreds  of  miles  in  an  instant.  She  stroked  the 
poor  old  shoe  lovingly  and  kissed  it.  I  don't  think 
just  then  she  would  have  parted  with  it  for  any- 
thing ;  it  would  have  cost  her  less  to  give  away  the 
lovely  little  scarlet  ones. 

The  thought  of  the  old  clothes  turned  her  mind  to 
the  children  at  the  back. 

"  I  wonder  if  nurse  gave  them  any  of  Hal's  and 
Baby's  old  things,"  she  said  to  herself. 

And  she  went  to  the  window  with  a  vague  idea  of 
looking  to  see.  She  had  not  watched  the  Smileys  or 
their  relations  much  for  some  days;  she  had  been 
busy  helping  mamma  and  nurse  in  various  little 
ways,  and  her  mind  had  been  very  full  of  the  going 
away.  She  almost  felt  as  if  she  had  neglected  her 
opposite  neighbours,  though,  of  course,  they  knew 
nothing  about  it,  and  she  was  quite  pleased  to  see 
them  all  there  as  usual,  or  even  more  than  usual. 
For  it  was  so  fine  a  day  that  Reddy  and  her  mother 
were  evidently  having  a  grand  turn-out  —  a  sort  of 
spring  cleaning,  I  suppose. 

Small  pieces  of  carpet,  and  one  or  two  mats,  much 
the  worse  for  wear,  were  hanging  out  at  the  open 
windows.  Reddy's  head,  tied  up  in  a  cloth  to  keep 
the  dust  out  of  her  hair,  was  to  be  seen  every  minute 


78          PEGGY:  A  NURSERY  STORY. 

or  two,  as  she  thumped  about  with  a  long  broom, 
and  Mary-Hann  presently  appeared  with  a  pail  of 
soapy  water  which  she  emptied  at  a  grid  in  the 
gutter.  Mary-Hann  looked  rather  depressed,  but 
Reddy's  spirits  were  fully  equal  to  the  occasion. 
Had  the  window  been  open,  Peggy  felt  sure  she 
would  have  been  able  to  hear  her  shouting  to  her 
sister  to  "  look  sharp,"  or  to  "  mind  what  she  was 
about,"  even  more  vigorously  than  usual. 

The  rest  of  the  family,  excepting,  of  course,  the 
boys,  were  assembled  on  the  pavement  in  front  of 
Mr.  Crick  the  cobbler's  shop.  He  too  had  opened 
his  window  to  enjoy  the  fine  day,  and  in  the  back- 
ground he  could  be  dimly  seen  working,  as  dingy 
and  leathery  as  ever.  Mrs.  Whelan's  frilled  cap  and 
pipe  looked  out  for  a  moment  and  then  disappeared 
again.  Apparently  just  then  there  was  nobody  or 
nothing  she  could  scold. 

For  the  poor  children  on  the  pavement  were 
behaving  very  quietly.  The  Smileys  had  stayed  at 
home  from  school  to  mind  the  babies,  with  a  view 
to  smoothing  the  way  for  the  spring  cleaning,  no 
doubt,  and  were  sitting,  each  with  a  child  on  her 
lap,  in  two  little  old  chairs  they  had  carried  down. 
Crippley  was  rocking  herself  gently  in  her  chair 
beside  them,  and  the  last  baby  but  two,  as  Peggy 
then  thought,  was  on  his  knees  on  the  ground, 
amusing  himself  with  two  or  three  oyster  shells  and 
a  few  marbles.  All  these  particulars  Peggy,  from 


FELLOW-FEELINGS   AND   SLIPPERS.  79 

her  high-up  nursery  window,  could  not,  of  course, 
see  clearly,  but  she  saw  enough  to  make  her  sigh 
deeply  as  she  thought  that  after  all,  the  Smileys 
were  much  to  be  envied. 

"  I  dare  say  they're  telling  theirselves  stories,"  she 
said  to  herself.  "  They  look  so  comfable." 

Just  then  the  big  baby  happened  to  come  more  in 
sight,  and  she  saw  that  one  of  the  things  he  was 
playing  with  was  a  little  shoe  —  an  odd  one  appar- 
ently. He  had  filled  it  with  marbles,  and  was  pull- 
ing it  across  the  stones.  Up  jumped  Peggy  from 
her  seat  on  the  window-sill. 

"  Oh ! "  she  exclaimed,  though  there  was  no  one 
to  hear,  "  it  must  be  the  nother  shoe  of  this.  What 
a  pity !  They'd  do  for  Tip,  and  p'raps  they've 
thought  there  wasn't  a  nother.  How  I  would  like 
to  take  it  them !  I'll  call  Fanny  and  see  if  she'll 
run  across  with  it." 

Downstairs  she  went,  calling  Fanny  from  time  to 
time  as  she  journeyed.  But  no  Fanny  replied ;  she 
was  down  in  the  kitchen,  and  to  the  kitchen  Peggy 
knew  mamma  would  not  like  her  to  go.  She  stood 
at  last  in  the  passage  wondering  what  to  do,  when, 
glancing  round,  she  noticed  that  the  back-door  open- 
ing into  the  yard  was  temptingly  open.  Peggy 
peeped  out  —  there  was  no  one  there,  but,  still  more 
tempting,  the  door  leading  into  the  small  back  street 
—  the  door  just  opposite  the  Smiley  mansion  —  stood 
open,  wide  open  too,  and  even  from  where  she  was 


80  PEGGY  :   A  NURSERY   STORY. 

the  little  girl  could  catch  sight  of  the  group  on  the 
other  side  of  the  narrow  street. 

She  trotted  across  the  yard,  and  stood  for  a 
minute,  the  shoe  in  her  hand,  gazing  at  the  six 
children.  The  sound  of  their  voices  reached  her. 

"  Half  red  is  quite  took  up  with  his  shoe,"  said 
Brown  Smiley.  "  I  told  mother  she  moight  as  well 
give  it  he  —  a  hodd  shoe's  no  good  to  nobody." 

"'Tis  a  pity  there  wasn't  the  two  of  'em,"  said 
Crippley,  in  a  thin,  rather  squeaky  voice.  "  They'd 
a  done  bee-yutiful  for  —  " 

"For  Tip  —  yes,  that's  what  I  were  thinking," 
cried  an  eager  little  voice.  "  Here's  the  other  shoe  ; 
I've  just  founded  it." 

And  little  Peggy,  with  her  neat  hair  and  clean 
pinafore,  stood  in  the  middle  of  the  children  holding 
out  Hal's  slipper,  and  smiling  at  them,  like  an  old 
friend. 

For  a  moment  or  two  they  were  all  too  astonished 
to  speak ;  they  could  scarcely  have  stared  more  had 
they  caught  sight  of  a  pair  of  wings  on  her  shoulders, 
by  means  of  which  she  had  flown  down  from  the  sky. 

Then  Light  Smiley  nudged  Crippley,  and  mur- 
mured something  which  Peggy  could  not  clearly 
.hear,  about  "  th'  young  lady  hopposite." 

"  Thank  you,  miss,"  then  said  Crippley,  not  quite 
knowing  what  to  say.  "  Here,  Half  red,  you'll  have 
to  find  summat  else  to  make  a  carridge  of ;  give  us 
the  shoe  —  there's  a  good  boy." 


T~> 

j~or    Tip  -Y£5, 
criid 
shoi  ; 


s  wnat  /  Wirj  thinking. 
" 


|oinz\foT£  ,    stood   in 

hololing   out* 
c^ 
an    old 


FELLOW-FEELINGS   AND   SLIPPERS.  81 

Halfred  stopped  playing,  and  still  on  his  knees 
on  the  pavement  stared  up  suspiciously  at  his  sister. 
Brown  Smiley,  by  way  of  taking  part  in  what  was 
going  on,  swooped  down  over  him  and  caught  up  the 
shoe  before  he  saw  what  she  was  doing,  cleverly 
managing  to  hold  her  baby  on  her  knee  all  the  same. 

"  'Ere  it  be,"  she  said.  "  Sarah,  put  Florence  on 
Lizzie's  lap  for  a  minute,  and  run  you  upstairs  with 
them  two  shoes  to  mother.  They'll  do  splendid  for 
Tommy,  they  will.  And  thank  the  young  lady." 

Sarah,  otherwise  Light  Smiley,  got  up  obediently, 
deposited  her  baby  on  Crippley's  lap  and  held  out 
her  hand  to  Peggy  for  the  other  shoe,  bobbing  as  she 
did  so,  with  a  "  Thank  you,  miss." 

Peggy  left  off  smiling  and  looked  rather  puzzled. 

"  For  Tommy,"  she  repeated.  "  Who  is  Tommy  ? 
I  thought  they'd  do  for  Tip.  I  —  " 

It  was  now  the  sisters'  turn  to  stare,  but  they  had 
not  much  time  to  do  so,  for  Halfred,  who  had  taken 
all  this  time  to  arrive  at  the  knowledge  that  his  new 
plaything  had  been  taken  from  him,  suddenly  burst 
into  a  loud  howl  —  so  loud,  so  deliberate  and  deter- 
mined, that  Peggy  stopped  short,  and  all  the  group 
seemed  for  a  moment  struck  dumb. 

Brown  Smiley  was  the  first  to  speak. 

"Come,  now,  Halfred,"  she  said,  "where's  your 
manners  ?  You'd  never  stop  Tommy  having  a  nice 
pair  o'  shoes." 

But  Halfred  continued  to  weep — he  gazed  up  at 


82          PEGGY:  A  NURSERY  STORY. 

Peggy,  the  tears  streaming  down  his  smutty  face,  his 
mouth  wide  open,  howling  hopelessly. 

"Poor  little  boy,"  said  Peggy,  looking  ready  to 
cry  herself.  "I  wish  I'd  a  nother  old  shoe  for 
him." 

"  Bless  you,  miss,  he's  always  a-crying  —  there's 
no  need  to  worry,"  said  Crippley,  whose  real  name 
was  Lizzie.  "Take  him  in  with  you,  Sarah,  and 
tell  mother  he's  a  naughty  boy,  that's  what  he  is," 
and  Light  Smiley  picked  him  up  and  ran  off  with 
him  in  such  a  hurry  that  Peggy  stood  still  repeating 
"  poor  little  boy  "  before  she  knew  what  had  become 
of  him. 

Quiet  was  restored,  however.  Peggy,  having  done 
what  she  carne  for,  should  have  gone  home,  but  the 
attractions  of  society  were  too  much  for  her.  She 
lingered  —  Crippley  pushed  Sarah's  empty  chair 
towards  her. 

"  Take  a  seat,  miss,"  she  said.  "  You'll  excuse 
me  not  gettin'  up.  Oust  I'm  a-sittin'  down,  it's  not 
so  heasy." 

Peggy  looked  at  her  with  great  interest. 

"  Does  it  hurt  much  ?  "  she  asked. 

Lizzie  smiled  in  a  superior  way. 

"  Bless  you,"  she  said  again,  "  hurt's  no  word  for 
it.     It's  hall  over  —  but  it's  time  I  were  used  to  it  — 
never  mind  about  me,  missy.     I'm  sure  it  was  most 
obligin'  of  you  to  bring  the  shoe,  but   won't   your 
mamma  and  your  nurse  scold  you  ?  " 


FELLOW-FEELINGS   AND   SLIPPERS.  83 

"  My  mamma's  gone  away,  and  so  has  my  nurse," 
said  Peggy.  "  I'm  all  alone." 

All  the  eyes  looked  up  with  sympathy. 

"  Deary  me,  who'd  a  thought  it  ? "  said  Brown 
Smiley.  "  But  there  must  be  somebody  to  do  for 
you,  miss." 

"  To  what  ?  "  asked  Peggy.  "  Of  course  there's 
cook,  and  Fanny,  and  my  brothers,  and  my  papa  when 
he  comes  home." 

Brown  Smiley  looked  relieved.  She  was  only  a 
very  little  girl,  not  more  than  three  years  older  than 
Peggy  herself,  though  she  seemed  so  much  more,  and 
she  had  really  thought  that  the  little  visitor  meant  to 
say  she  was  quite,  quite  by  herself. 

"  Oh !  "  she  said,  "  that's  not  being  real  alone." 

"  But  it  is,"  persisted  Peggy.  "  It  is  very  alone,  I 
can  tell  you.  I've  nobody  to  play  with,  and  nothing 
to  do  'cept  to  look  out  of  the  window  at  you  playing, 
and  at  the  nother  window  at  —  " 

"  The  winder  to  the  front,"  said  Lizzie,  eagerly. 
"It  must  be  splendid  at  your  front,  miss.  Father 
told  me  onst  you  could  see  the  'ills  —  ever  so  far  right 
away  in  Brackenshire.  Some  day  if  I  could  but  get 
along  a  bit  better  I'd  like  fine  to  go  round  to  your 
front,  miss.  I've  never  seed  a  'ill." 

Lizzie  was  quite  out  of  breath  with  excitement. 
Peggy  answered  eagerly. 

"  Oh  I  do  wish  you  could  come  to  our  day  nursery 
window.  When  it's  fine  you  can  see  the  mountings 


84  PEGGY:   A  NURSERY  STORY. 

—  that's  old,  no,  big  hills,  you  know.  And  —  on  one 
of  them  you  can  see  a  white  cottage  ;  it  does  so 
shine  in  the  sun." 

"  Bless  me,"  said  Lizzie,  and  both  the  Smileys, 
for  Sarah  had  come  back  by  now,  stood  listening  with 
open  mouths. 

"  Father's  from  Brackenshire,"  said  Light  Smiley, 
whose  real  name  was  Sarah.  She  spoke  rather 
timidly,  for  she  was  well  kept  in  her  place  by  her 
four  elder  sisters.  For  a  wonder  they  did  not  snub 
her. 

"  Yes,  he  be,"  added  Matilda,  "  and  he's  told  us  it's 
bee-yutiful  over  there.  He  lived  in  a  cottage,  he  did, 
when  he  were  a  little  lad." 

"  Mebbe  'tis  father's  cottage  miss  sees  shining," 
ventured  Sarah.  But  this  time  she  was  not  so  lucky. 

"  Rubbish,  Sarah,"  said  Lizzie.  "  There's  more'n 
one  cottage  in  Brackenshire." 

"  And  there's  a  mamma  and  a  baby  —  and  a  papa 
who  goes  to  work,  in  my  cottage,"  said  Peggy.  "  So 
I  don't  think  it  could  be  — "  but  here  she  grew 
confused,  remembering  that  all  about  the  white 
cottage  was  only  fancy,  and  that  besides  the  Smileys' 
father  might  have  lived  there  long  ago.  She  got 
rather  red,  feeling  somehow  as  if  it  was  not  very  kind 
of  her  not  to  like  the  idea  of  its  being  his  cottage. 
She  had  seen  him  once  or  twice ;  he  looked  big  and 
rough,  and  his  clothes  were  old  —  she  could  not  fancy 
him  ever  having  lived  in  her  dainty  white  house. 


FELLOW-FEELINGS   AND   SLIPPERS.  85 

Just  then  came  a  loud  voice  from  the  upper  story, 
demanding  Sarah. 

"  'Tis  Mother  Whelan,"  said  Brown  Smiley,  start- 
ing up.  "  Rebecca  said  as  how  I  was  to  run  of  an 
errant  for  her.  It's  time  I  were  off." 

Peggy  turned  to  go. 

"  I  must  go  home,"  she  said.  "  P'raps  I'll  come 
again  some  day.  If  mamma  was  at  home  I'd  ask 
her  if  you  mightn't  come  to  look  out  of  the  nursery 
window,"  she  added,  turning  to  Lizzie. 

"  Bless  you,"  said  the  poor  girl,  "  I'd  never  get  up 
the  stairs  ;  thank  you  all  the  same." 

And  with  a  deep  sigh  of  regret  at  having  to  leave 
such  pleasant  company,  Peggy  ran  across  the  street 
home. 


CHAPTER  VII. 

A  BUN   TO  THE   GOOD. 

"  The  little  gift  from  out  our  store." 

THE  yard  door  was  still  open ;  so  was  the  house 
door.  Peggy  met  no  one  as  she  ran  in. 

"Fanny's  upstairs,  p'raps,"  she  said  to  herself. 
But  no,  she  saw  nothing  of  Fanny  either  on  the  way 
up  or  in  the  nursery.  She  did  not  feel  dull  or  lonely 
now,  however.  She  went  to  the  back  window  and 
stood  there  for  a  minute  looking  at  Crippley  and 
Light  Smiley,  who  were  still  there  with  the  two  babies. 
How  funny  it  seemed  that  just  a  moment  or  two  ago 
she  had  been  down  there  actually  talking  to  them  ! 
She  could  scarcely  believe  they  were  the  very  same 
children  whom  for  so  long  she  had  known  by  -sight. 

"  I  am  so  glad  I  found  the  shoe,"  thought  Peggy. 
"  I  wish,  oh  I  do  wish  I  could  have  a  tea-party,  and 
'avite  them  all  to  tea.  I  dare  say  the  father  could 
carry  Crippley  upstairs  —  he's  a  very  big  man." 

The  thought  of  the  father  carried  her  thoughts 
to  Brackenshire  and  the  cottage  on  the  hill,  and  she 
went  into  the  day-nursery  to  look  if  the  white  spot 
was  still  to  be  seen.  Yes,  it  was  very  bright  and 

86 


A  BUN   TO   THE   GOOD.  87 

clear  in  the  sunshine.  Peggy  gazed  at  it  while  a 
smile  broke  over  her  grave  little  face. 

"  How  I  do  wish  I  could  go  there,"  she  thought. 
"  I  wonder  if  the  Smileys'  father  'am embers  about 
when  he  was  a  little  boy,  quite  well.  If  he  wasn't 
such  a  'nugly  man  we  might  ask  him  to  tell  us 
stories  about  it." 

Then  she  caught  sight  of  the  little  scarlet  shoes 
patiently  standing  on  the  window-sill. 

"  Dear  little  shoes,"  she  said,  "  Peggy  was  neely 
forgetting  you,"  and  she  took  them  up  and  kissed 
them.  "  Next  time  I  go  to  see  the  Smileys,"  she 
thought,  "I'll  take  the  red  shoes  with  me  to  show 
them.  They  will  be  pleased." 

Then  she  got  out  her  work  and  sat  down  to  do  it, 
placing  her  chair  where  she  could  see  the  hills  from, 
the  little  shoes  in  her  lap,  feeling  quite  happy  and 
contented.  It  seemed  but  a  little  while  till  Fanny 
came  up  to  lay  the  cloth  for  Peggy's  dinner.  She 
had  been  working  extra  hard  that  morning,  so  as  to 
be  ready  for  the  afternoon,  and  perhaps  her  head  was 
a  little  confused.  And  so  when  Peggy  began  telling 
her  her  adventures  she  did  not  listen  attentively, 
and  answered  "yes"  and  "no"  without  really 
knowing  what  she  was  saying. 

"And  so  when  I  couldn't  find  you,  Fanny,  I  just 
runned  over  with  the  'nother  shoe  myself.  And  the 
poor  little  boy  what  was  playing  with  the  —  the  not 
the  'nother  one,  you  know,  did  so  cry,  but  I  think 


88          PEGGY:  A  NURSERY  STORY. 

he  soon  left  off.  And  some  day  I'm  going  to  ask 
mamma  to  let  me  'avite  them  all  to  tea,  for  them  to 
see  the  hills,  and  —  "  but  here  Peggy  stopped,  "  the 
hills,  you  know,  out  of  the  window." 

"  Yes,  dear  ;  very  nice,"  said  Fanny.  "  You've 
been  a  good  little  girl  to  amuse  yourself  so  quietly 
all  the  morning  and  give  no  trouble.  I  do  wonder 
if  the  washerwoman  knows  to  come  for  the  nursery 
things,  or  if  I  must  send,"  she  went  on,  speaking, 
though  aloud,  to  herself. 

So  Peggy  felt  perfectly  happy  about  all  she  had 
done,  not  indeed  that  she  had  had  the  slightest  mis- 
giving. 

The  afternoon  passed  very  pleasantly.  It  was 
quite  a  treat  to  Peggy  to  go  a  walk  in  a  grown- 
up sort  of  way  with  Fanny,  trotting  by  her  side  and 
talking  comfortably,  instead  of  having  to  take  Hal's 
hand  and  lugging  him  along  to  keep  well  in  front  of 
the  perambulator.  They  went  up  the  Fernley  Road 
—  a  good  way,  farther  than  Peggy  had  ever  been  — 
so  far  indeed  that  she  could  scarcely  understand  how 
it  was  the  hills  did  not  seem  much  nearer  than  from 
the  nursery  window,  but  when  she  asked  Fanny, 
Fanny  said  it  was  often  so  with  hills  —  "  nothing  is 
more  undependable."  Peggy  did  not  quite  under- 
stand her,  but  put  it  away  in  her  head  to  think 
about  afterwards. 

And  when  they  came  home  it  was  nearly  tea- 
time.  Peggy  felt  quite  comfortably  tired  when  she 


A   BUN  TO   THE   GOOD.  89 

had  taken  off  her  things  and  began  to  help  Fanny  to 
get  tea  ready  for  the  boys,  and  when  they  arrived, 
all  three  very  hungry  and  rather  low-spirited  at  the 
thought  of  mamma  and  nurse  being  away,  it  was 
very  nice  for  them  to  find  the  nursery  quite  as  tidy  as 
usual  —  indeed,  perhaps,  rather  tidier  —  and  Peggy, 
with  a  bright  face,  waiting  with  great  pride  to  pour 
out  tea  for  them. 

"I  think  you're  a  very  good  housekeeper,  Peg," 
said  Terence,  who  was  always  the  first  to  say  some- 
thing pleasant. 

"  Not  so  bad,"  agreed  Thorold,  patronisingly. 

Baldwin  sat  still,  looking  before  him  solemnly, 
and  considering  his  words,  as  was  his  way  before  he 
said  anything. 

"I  think,"  he  began  at  last,  "I  think  that  when 
I'm  a  big  man  I'll  live  in  a  cottage  all  alone  with 
Peggy,  and  not  no  one  else." 

Peggy  turned  to  him  with  sparkling  eyes. 

"  A  white  cottage,  Baldwin  dear ;  do  say  a  white 
cottage,"  she  entreated. 

"  I  don't  mind  —  a  white  cottage,  but  quite  a  tiny 
one,"  he  replied. 

"  Hum  !  "  said  Thor,  "  that's  very  good-natured,  I 
must  say.  There'll  be  no  room  for  visitors,  do  you 
hear,  Terry  ?  " 

"  Oh  yes ;  p'raps  there  will  sometimes,"  said  Peggy. 

"  You'll  let  your  poor  old  Terry  come,  won't  you, 
Peg-top  ?  "  said  Terence,  coaxingly. 


90          PEGGY:  A  NURSEEY  STORY. 

"Dear  Terry,"  said  Peggy. 

"  Haven't  you  been  very  dull  all  day  alone,  by 
the  bye?"  Terence  went  on. 

"  Not  very,"  Peggy  replied.  "  Fanny  took  me  a 
nice  walk,  and  this  morning  — "  But  she  stopped 
short  before  telling  more.  She  was  afraid  that 
Thorold  would  laugh  at  her  if  she  said  how  much 
she  liked  the  children  at  the  back,  and  then  she 
had  another  reason.  She  wanted  to  "  surprise  "  her 
brothers  with  a  present  of  pipes  for  soap-bubbles, 
and  very  likely  if  she  began  talking  about  the  back 
street  at  all  it  would  make  them  think  of  Mrs. 
Whelan's,  and  then  they  might  think  of  the  pipes 
for  themselves,  which  Peggy  did  not  wish  at  all. 
She  felt  quite  big  and  managing  since  she  had  paid 
a  visit  to  the  Smileys,  and  had  a  plan  for  going  to 
buy  the  pipes  "  all  by  my  own  self." 

"  To-morrow,"  said  Thorold,  "  there's  to  be  a  party 
at  our  school.  We're  all  three  to  go." 

Peggy's  face  fell. 

"  It's  Saturday,"  she  said.  "  I  thought  you'd  have 
stayed  with  me." 

Terence  and  Baldwin  looked  sorry. 

"  Til  stay  at  home,"  said  Terry. 

"No,"  said  Thor,  "I  really  don't  think  you  can. 
They're  counting  on  you  for  some  of  the  games.  Peg 
won't  mind  much  for  once,  will  you  ?  I'm  sorry  too." 

But  before  Peggy  had  time  to  reply,  Baldwin 
broke  in. 


A  BUN   TO   THE   GOOD.  91 

"I'll  stay  at  home  with  Peg-top,"  he  said,  in  his 
slow,  distinct  way.  "It  won't  matter  for  me  not 
going.  I'm  one  of  the  little  ones." 

"And  we'll  go  a  nice  walk,  won't  we,  Baldwin?" 
said  Peggy,  quite  happy  again.  "  And  I  dare  say  we 
may  have  something  nice  for  tea.  I'll  ask  papa," 
she  added  to  herself.  "  I'm  sure  he'll  give  me  some 
pennies  when  he  hears  how  good  Baldwin  is." 

Miss  Earnshaw  came  the  next  morning,  and  in 
the  interest  of  being  measured  for  her  new  spring 
frock,  and  watching  it  being  cut  out,  and  considering 
what  she  herself  could  make  with  the  scraps  which 
the  young  dressmaker  gave  her,  the  time  passed  very 
pleasantly  for  Peggy. 

Miss  Earnshaw  admired  the  red  shoes  very  much, 
and  was  interested  to  hear  the  story  of  the  unknown 
lady  wrho  had  given  them  to  Peggy?  and  told  a  story 
of  a  similar  adventure  of  her  own  when  she  was  a 
little  girl.  And  after  dinner  she,  for  Fanny  was 
very  busy,  took  Peggy  and  Baldwin  out  for  a  walk, 
and  on  their  way  home  they  went  to  the  confec- 
tioner's and  bought  six  halfpenny  buns  with  the 
three  pennies  papa  had  given  Peggy  that  morning. 
At  least  the  children  thought  there  were  only  six, 
but  greatly  to  their  surprise,  when  they  undid  the 
parcel  on  the  nursery  table,  out  rolled  seven ! 

"  Oh  dear !  "  said  Peggy,  "  she's  gave  us  one  too 
many.  Must  we  go  back  to  the  shop  with  it,  do  you 
think,  Miss  Earnshaw  ?  It's  such  a  long  way." 


92          PEGGY:  A  NURSERY  STORY. 

"  I'll  go,"  said  Baldwin,  beginning  to  fasten  his 
boots  again. 

But  Miss  Earnshaw  assured  them  it  was  all  right. 

"  You  always  get  thirteen  of  any  penny  buns  or 
cakes  for  a  shilling,"  she  said ;  "  and  some  shops  will 
give  you  seven  halfpenny  ones  for  threepence.  That's 
how  it  is.  Did  you  never  hear  speak  of  a  baker's 
dozen?" 

Still  Peggy  did  not  feel  satisfied. 

"  It  isn't  comfable,"  she  said,  giving  herself  a  little 
wriggle  —  a  trick  of  hers  when  she  was  put  out. 
"  Six  would  have  been  much  nicer  —  just  two  for 
each,"  for  Miss  Earnshaw  was  to  have  tea  with  her 
and  Baldwin. 

The  young  dressmaker  smiled. 

"  You  are  funny,  Miss  Peggy,"  she  said.  "  Well, 
run  off  now  and  get  ready  for  tea.  We'll  have  Fanny 
bringing  it  up  in  a  minute." 

Peggy,  the  seventh  bun  still  much  on  her  mind, 
went  slowly  into  the  night  nursery.  Before  begin- 
ning to  take  off  her  hat  she  strolled  to  the  window 
and  looked  out.  She  had  seen  none  of  the  children 
to-day.  Now,  Brown  Smiley  was  standing  just  in 
front  of  the  house,  a  basket  on  her  arm,  staring  up 
and  down  the  street.  She  had  been  "  of  an  errant  " 
for  Mrs.  Whelan,  but  Mrs.  Whelan's  door  was 
locked;  she  was  either  asleep  or  counting  her  money, 
and  the  little  girl  knew  that  if  she  went  on  knocking 
the  old  woman  would  get  into  a  rage,  so  she  was 


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A  BUK  TO   THE  GOOD.  93 

"  waitin'  a  bit."  She  liked  better  to  do  her  waiting 
in  the  street,  for  she  had  been  busy  indoors  all  the 
morning,  and  it  was  a  change  to  stand  there  looking 
about  her. 

Peggy  gazed  at  her  for  a  moment  or  two.  Then 
an  idea  struck  her.  She  ran  back  into  the  nursery 
and  seized  a  bun  —  the  odd  bun. 

"  They're  all  mine,  you  know,"  she  called  out  to 
Baldwin ;  "  but  we'll  have  two  each  still." 

Baldwin  looked  up  in  surprise.  "  What  are  you 
going  to  do  with  it?"  he  began  to  say,  but  Peggy 
was  out  of  sight. 

She  was  soon  downstairs,  and  easily  opened  the 
back  door.  But  the  yard  door  was  fastened;  she 
found  some  difficulty  in  turning  the  big  key.  She 
managed  it  at  last,  however,  and  saw  to  her  delight 
that  Brown  Smiley  was  still  there. 

"  Brown,"  began  Peggy,  but  suddenly  recollecting 
that  the  Smileys  had  real  names,  she  stopped  short, 
and  ran  across  the  street.  "  I  can't  'amember  your 
name,"  she  exclaimed,  breathlessly,  "  but  I've  brought 
you  this,"  and  she  held  out  the  bun. 

Brown  Smiley's  face  smiled  all  over. 

"  Lor',  miss,"  she  exclaimed.  "  You  are  kind,  to 
be  sure.  Mayn't  I  give  it  to  Lizzie?  She's  been 
very  bad  to-day,  and  she's  eat  next  to  nought.  This 
'ere'll  be  tasty-like." 

"  Lizzie,"  repeated  Peggy,  "  which  is  Lizzie  ?  Oh 
yes,  I  know,  it's  Crippley." 


94          PEGGY:  A  NUBSERY  STORY. 

Brown  Smiley  looked  rather  hurt. 

"  It's  not  her  fault,  miss,"  she  said.  "  I'd  not  like 
her  to  hear  herself  called  like  that." 

Peggy's  face  showed  extreme  surprise. 

"  How  do  you  mean  ?  "  she  said.  "  I've  made 
names  for  you  all.  I  didn't  know  your  real  ones." 

Brown  Smiley  looked  at  her  and  saw  in  a  moment 
that  there  was  nothing  to  be  vexed  about. 

"  To  be  sure,  miss.  Beg  your  pardon.  Well,  she 
that's  lame's  Lizzie,  and  me,  I'm  Matilda-Jane." 

"  Oh  yes,"  interrupted  Peggy.  "  Well,  you  may 
give  her  the  bun  if  you  like.  It's  .very  kind  of  you, 
for  I  meant  it  for  you.  I'd  like  —  "  she  went  on, 
"  I'd  like  to  give  you  more,  but  you  see  papa  gaved 
me  the  pennies  for  us,  and  p'raps  he'd  be  vexed." 

"  To  be  sure,  to  be  sure,  that'd  never  do,"  replied 
Matilda,  quickly.  "  But  oh,  miss,  we've  been  asking 
father  about  Brackenshire,  and  the  cottages.  'Tis 
Brackenshire  'ills,  sure  enough,  that's  seen  from  your 
front." 

"  I  knew  that,"  said  Peggy,  in  a  superior  way. 

But  Brown  Smiley  was  too  eager  to  feel  herself 
snubbed. 

"  And  oh,  but  he  says  it  is  bee-yutiful  there  —  over 
on  the  'ills.  The  air's  that  fresh,  and  there's  flowers 
and  big-leaved  things  as  they  calls  ferns  and  brackens." 

"  And  white  cottages  ?  "  asked  Peggy,  anxiously. 

"  There's  cottages  —  I  didn't  think  for  to  ask  if 
they  was  all  white.  My  !  If  we  could  but  go  there 


A   BUK  TO   THE   GOOD.  95 

some  fine  day.  Father  says  it's  not  so  far ;  many's 
the  time  he's  walked  over  there  and  back  again  the 
next  morning  when  he  first  corned  to  work  here,  you 
see,  miss,  and  his  'ome  was  still  over  there  like." 

"  Yes,  in  the  white  cottage,"  said  Peggy.  She  had 
made  up  her  mind  that  it  was  unkind  not  to  "  let  it 
be  "  that  the  Smileys'  father  had  lived  in  that  very 
cottage,  for  he  did  seem  to  be  a  nice  man  in  spite  of 
his  bigness  and  his  dingy  workman's  clothes.  If  he 
wasn't  nice  and  kind  she  didn't  think  the  children 
would  talk  of  him  as  they  did. 

But  she  spoke  absently ;  Matilda-Jane's  words  had 
put  thoughts  in  her  head  which  seemed  to  make  her 
almost  giddy.  Brown  Smiley  stared  at  her  for  a 
minute. 

"  How  she  do  cling  to  them  cottages  being  white," 
she  thought  to  herself,  "but  there  —  if  it  pleases  her! 
She's  but  a  little  one."  "White  if  you  please,  miss," 
she  replied,  "though  I  can't  say  as  I  had  it  from 
father." 

But  suddenly  a  window  above  opened,  and  Mother 
Whelan's  befrilled  face  was  thrust  out. 

"  What  are  ye  about  there  then,  and  me  fire  burn- 
ing itself  away,  and  me  tea  ready,  waiting  for  the 
bread?  What's  the  young  lady  chatterin'  to  the 
likes  o'  you  for?  Go  home,  missy,  darlin',  go 
home." 

The  two  children  jumped  as  if  they  had  been 
shot. 


96          PEGGY:  A  NURSERY  STORY. 

"  Will  she  beat  you  ?  "  whispered  Peggy,  looking 
very  frightened.  But  Brown  Smiley  shook  her  little 
round  head  and  laughed. 

"She  won't  have  a  chance,  and  she  dursn't  not 
to  say  beat  us  —  father'd  be  down  on  her  —  but  she 
doesn't  think  nought  of  a  good  shakin'.  But  I'll 
push  the  basket  in  and  run  off  if  she's  in  a  real 
wax." 

"  Good-bye,  then.  You  must  tell  me  lots  more 
about  the  hills.  Ask  your  father  all  you  can,"  and 
so  saying,  Peggy  flew  home  again. 

"  Where've  you  been,  what  did  you  do  with  the 
bun  ?  "  asked  Baldwin,  as  soon  as  she  came  into  the 
nursery. 

"  I  runned  down  with  it,  and  gaved  it  to  a  little 
girl  I  saw  in  the  street,"  said  Peggy. 

"  Very  kind  and  nice,  I'm  sure,"  said  Miss  Earn- 
shaw.  u  Was  it  a  beggar,  Miss  Peggy  ?  You're  sure 
your  mamma  and  nurse  wouldn't  mind?"  she  added, 
rather  anxiously. 

"  Oh  no,"  said  Peggy.  "  It's  not  a  beggar.  It's  a 
proper  little  poor  girl  what  nurse  gives  our  nold 
clothes  to." 

"  Oh,"  said  Baldwin,  "  one  of  the  children  over 
the  cobbler's,  I  suppose.  But,  Peggy,"  he  was  going 
on  to  say  he  didn't  think  his  sister  had  ever  been 
allowed  to  run  down  to  the  back  street  to  speak  to 
them,  only  he  was  so  slow  and  so  long  of  making  up 
his  mind  that,  as  Fanny  just  then  came  in  with  the 


A  BUN   TO   THE   GOOD.  97 

tea,  which  made  a  little  bustle,  nobody  attended  to 
him,  and  Miss  Earnshaw  remained  quite  satisfied 
that  all  was  right. 

The  buns  tasted  very  good  —  all  the  better  to 
Peggy  from  the  feeling  that  poor  lame  Lizzie  was 
perhaps  eating  hers  at  that  same  moment,  and  find- 
ing it  "tasty." 

"Does  lame  people  ever  get  quite  better?"  she 
asked  the  young  dressmaker. 

"  That  depends,"  Miss  Earnshaw  replied.  "  If  it's 
through  a  fall  or  something  that  way,  outside  of 
them  so  to  say,  there's  many  as  gets  better.  But  if 
it's  in  them,  in  the  constitution,  there's  many  as  stays 
lame  all  their  lives  through." 

Peggy  wriggled  a  little.  She  didn't  like  to  think 
about  it  much.  It  sounded  so  mysterious. 

"  What  part's  that  ?  "  she  asked ;  « that  big  word." 

"  Constitootion,"  said  Baldwin,  as  if  he  was  trying 
to  spell  "  Constantinople." 

Miss  Earnshaw  laughed.  She  lived  alone  with  her 
mother,  and  was  not  much  used  to  children.  But 
she  was  so  pleasant-tempered  and  gentle  that  she 
easily  got  into  their  ways. 

"  I  shouldn't  use  such  long  words,"  she  said.  "Our 
constitution  just  means  ourselves  —  the  way  we're 
made.  A  strong,  healthy  person  is  said  to  have  a  good 
constitution,  and  a  weakly  person  has  a  poor  one." 

Baldwin  and  Peggy  both  sat  silent*  for  a  minute, 
thinking  over  what  she  said. 


98  PEGGY:   A  NURSERY  STORY. 

"  I  don't  see  how  that's  to  d.o  with  crippling,"  said 
Peggy  at  last.  "Does  you  mean,"  she  went  on, 
"  that  p'raps  lame  people's  legs  is  made  wrong  —  by 
mistake,  you  know.  In  course  God  wouldn't  do  it  of 
purpose,  would  he  ?  " 

Baldwin  looked  rather  startled. 

"  Peggy,"  he  said,  "  I  don't  think  you  should  speak 
that  way." 

Peggy  turned  her  gray  eyes  full  upon  him. 

"  I  don't  mean  to  say  anything  naughty,"  she  said. 
"/s  it  naughty,  Miss  Earnshaw  ?  " 

The  young  dressmaker  had  herself  been  rather 
taken  aback  by  Peggy's  queer  speech,  and  for  a 
moment  or  two  scarcely  knew  what  to  say.  But 
then  her  face  cleared  again. 

"  God  can't  make  mistakes,  Miss  Peggy,"  she  said, 
"  and  He  is  always  kind.  All  the  same  there's  many 
things  that  seem  like  one  or  the  other,  I  know.  It 
must  be  that  there's  reasons  for  them  that  we  can't 
see  —  like  when  a  doctor  hurts  anybody,  it  seems 
unkind,  but  it's  really  to  do  them  good." 

"  Like  when  our  doctor  cutted  poor  Baby's  tooths 
to  make  them  come  through,"  said  Peggy,  eagerly. 
u  They  was  all  bleeding,  bleeding  ever  so,  Miss  Earn- 
shaw. Baby  didn't  understand,  and  he  was  very 
angry.  He  always  sc'eams  at  the  doctor  now.  I 
almost  think  he'd  like  to  kill  him." 

Baldwin  opened  his  mouth  wide  at  these  blood- 
thirsty sentiments  of  Baby's.  He  was  too  shocked 
to  speak. 


A  BUN  TO  THE  GOOD.  99 

"  But  it  is  only  'cos  he  doesn't  understand," 
Peggy  went  on,  placidly.  "  I  don't  sc'eam  at  the 
doctor.  I  speak  to  him  quite  goodly,  'cos,  you  see, 
/understand." 

Baldwin  closed  his  mouth  again.  He  looked  at 
Peggy  with  admiring  respect. 

"  Yes,"  agreed  Miss  Earnshaw,  greatly  relieved  at 
the  turn  their  talk  had  taken,  "  that's  just  it,  Miss 
Peggy.     You  couldn't  have  put  it  better." 
-    "  Peggy,"  said    Baldwin,    "  when   you're    big   you 
should  be  a  clergymunt." 


CHAPTER  VIII. 

UNDER   THE   BIG   UMBRELLA. 

"  As  I  was  going  up  Pippin  Hill, 
Pippin  Hill  was  dirty, 
There  I  met  a  pretty  miss, 
And  she  dropped  me  a  curtsey." 

OLD  NURSERY  RHYME. 

NOTHING  particular  happened  during  the  next  few 
days.  Peggy's  little  life  went  on  regularly  and 
peacefully.  Miss  Earnshaw  came  every  morning, 
and  either  she  or  Fanny  took  Peggy  a  walk  every 
afternoon,  except  twice  when  it  rained,  to  the  little 
girl's  great  disappointment. 

The  second  of  these  wet  days  happened  to  be 
Friday.  Peggy  stood  at  the  front  nursery  window 
that  morning  looking  out  rather  sadly.  There  were 
no  hills  —  no  white  spot  to  be  seen,  of  course. 

"  I  wonder  what  the  Smileys  do  when  it  rains  all 
day,"  she  said  to  herself.  "  I  think  I'll  go  to  the 
back  window  and  look  if  I  can  see  any  of  them." 

She  had  scarcely  caught  sight  of  her  neighbours 
for  some  days.  Only  now  and  then  she  had  seen 
the  little  ones  tumbling  about  on  the  pavement,  and 
once  or  twice  the  elder  girls  had  brought  their  chairs 
down  and  sat  there  sewing.  Lizzie  had  never  come 

100 


UNDER   THE   BIG   UMBRELLA.  101 

out.  Peggy  feared  she  must  be  still  ill,  and  perhaps 
that  made  the  others  extra  busy.  It  was  not  likely 
any  of  them  would  come  out  to-day,  as  it  was  rain- 
ing so ;  but  sometimes  she  was  able  to  see  their  faces 
at  the  window.  And  on  a  rainy  day  some  of  the 
little  ones  at  least  would  perhaps  be  looking  out. 

She  turned  to  go  to  the  other  nursery  when  Miss 
Earnshaw  spoke  to  her. 

"  I  wouldn't  be  so  vexed  at  its  being  wet  to-day, 
Miss  Peggy,  if  I  was  you,"  she  said.  "  It'll  be  much 
worse  if  it's  wet  to-morrow,  for  it's  your  brothers' 
half-holiday." 

"  Is  to-morrow  Saturday  ?  "  asked  Peggy. 

"  To  be  sure  it  is.  And  I'm  afraid  I  can't  possibly 
stay  here  in  the  afternoon.  I've  got  to  go  to  see  a 
lady  some  way  off  about  some  work.  I  wish  bhe 
hadn't  fixed  for  Saturday.  If  it's  fine  it  won't  matter 
so  much.  Fanny  and  I  were  saying  you  could  all 
go  a  nice  walk  —  the  young  gentlemen  and  you, 
with  her.  But  if  it's  wet  I  don't  know  however 
she'll  manage  you  all  in  the  house." 

Suddenly  Peggy's  eyes  began  to  sparkle. 

"  Miss  Earnshaw,"  she  said,  "  I've  thought  of 
something.  If  you'll  ask  Fanny,  I'm  sure  she'll  say 
we  can ;  we've  not  had  them  for  such  a  long  time, 
and  I've  got  my  four  pennies  and  a  halfpenny  — 
that'll  get  six,  you  know,  in  case  any's  brokened." 

Miss  Earnshaw  looked  at  her  and  then  began  to 
laugh. 


102  PEGGY:  A  NURSERY  STORY. 

"  Miss  Peggy  dear,  you  must  tell  me  first  what 
you  mean,"  she  said.  "  Your  thoughts  come  so  fast 
that  they  run  ahead  of  your  words.  What  is  it  you 
mean  to  get  six  of  —  not  buns  ?  " 

"  Buns !  "  repeated  Peggy.  "  You  can't  blow 
bubbles  with  buns.  No,  of  course  I  meant  pipes. 
Nice  white  pipes  to  blow  soap-bubbles." 

"  Oh,  to  be  sure,"  said  Miss  Earnshaw.  "  That's 
a  very  good  idea,  Miss  Peggy,  in  case  to-morrow 
afternoon's  wet,  and  I  shouldn't  wonder  if  it  was." 

"  And  you'll  ask  Fanny  ?  " 

"  Of  course ;  you  can  ask  her  yourself  for  that 
matter.  I'm  sure  she's  the  last  to  grudge  you  any- 
thing that'd  please  you  and  the  young  gentlemen. 
And  even  if  soap-bubbles  are  rather  messy  sometimes, 
it's  easy  to  wipe  up.  It's  not  like  anything  dirty." 

"  Soap  must  be  clean,  mustn't  it  ? "  said  Peggy, 
laughing.  "  But  don't  tell  the  boys,  pelease,  dear 
Miss  Earnshaw.  I  do  so  want  to  'apprise  them.  I 
can  get  the  pipes  to-morrow  morning.  I  know  where 
to  get  them,"  and  quite  happy,  Peggy  trotted  off  to 
take  out  her  money-box  and  look  to  be  quite  sure 
that  the  three  pennies  and  three  halfpennies  were 
there  in  safety,  where  for  some  weeks  they  had  been 
waiting. 

"  Bless  her  heart,"  said  the  young  dressmaker. 
"  She  is  the  sweetest  little  innocent  darling  that  ever 
lived." 

After  looking  over  her  pennies  Peggy  turned  to 


UNDER  THE  BIG  UMBRELLA.         103 

the  window.  No,  none  of  the  Smileys  were  to  be 
seen. 

"  Never  mind,"  said  Peggy  to  herself.  "  I'll  p'raps 
see  them  to-morrow  when  I  go  for  the  pipes.  I  al- 
most hope  it'll  be  a  wet  day.  It  will  be  so  nice  to 
blow  soap-bubbles.  Only,"  and  she  sighed  a  little, 
"  it  does  seem  such  a  very  long  time  since  I  sawed 
the  white  cottage." 

To-morrow  was  rainy,  very  rainy,  with  no  look  of 
"  going  to  clear  up  "  about  it.  The  boys  grumbled  a 
good  deal  at  breakfast  at  the  doleful  prospect  of 
a  dull  half-holiday  in  the  house. 

"  And  papa's  going  away  to-day  till  Monday," 
said  Thorold;  "so  there'll  be  no  going  down  to  the 
dining-room  to  sit  beside  him  while  he's  at  dinner 
for  a  change." 

"  Poor  papa,"  said  Peggy,  "  he'll  get  very  wet 
going  such  a  long  way." 

"  Nonsense,  you  little  goose,"  said  Thor,  crossly. 
"  People  don't  get  wet  in  cabs  and  railway  carriages." 

"  I  forgot,"  said  Peggy,  meekly. 

"  You  shouldn't  call  her  a  goose,  Thor,"  said 
Terence.  "It's  very  disagreeable  to  travel  on  a 
very  rainy  day.  I've  often  heard  people  say  so." 

"  I  wish  I  was  going  to  travel,  rainy  or  not,  I  know 
that,"  grumbled  Thorold.  "Here  we  shall  be  mewed 
up  in  this  stupid  nursery  all  the  afternoon  with  noth- 
ing to  do." 

"  There's  lots  of  things  to  do,"  said  Baldwin.     "  I 


104  PEGGY:  A  NURSERY  STORY. 

think  I'll  write  a  letter  to  mamma  for  one  thing. 
And  I  want  to  tidy  my  treasure-box  and  —  " 

"  You're  a  stupid,"  said  Thorold.  "  You're  too  fat 
and  slow  to  have  any  spirit  in  you." 

"  Now,  Thorold,  I  say  that's  not  fair,"  said  Terry. 
"  Would  it  show  spirit  to  grumble  ?  You'd  be  down 
upon  him  if  he  did.  There's  no  pleasing  you." 

"  /  know  something  that  would  please  him,"  said 
Peggy,  who  was  trembling  between  eagerness  to  tell 
and  determination  not  to  tell  her  "surprise." 

"  What?"  said  Thor,  rather  grumpily  still. 

"I'm  not  going  to  tell  you  till  you  come  home. 
And  it'll  only  be  if  it's  a  rainy  afternoon,"  said 
Peggy. 

Terence  and  Baldwin  pricked  up  their  ears. 

"  Oh,  do  tell  us,  Peg-top,"  they  said. 

But  the  little  girl  shook  her  head. 

"  No,  no,"  she  replied.  "  I've  promised  myself  — 
quite  promised  not." 

"  There's  a  reason  for  you,"  said  Thor.  But  his 
tone  was  more  good-natured  now.  He  felt  ashamed 
of  being  so  cross  when  the  little  ones  were  so  kind 
and  bright. 

"I'll  really,  truly  tell  you  when  you  come  back 
from  school,"  said  Peggy,  and  with  this  assurance  the 
boys  had  to  content  themselves. 

Miss  Earnshaw  arrived  as  usual,  or  rather  not  as 
usual,  for  she  was  dripping,  poor  thing,  and  had  to 
leave  her  waterproof  downstairs  in  the  kitchen, 


UNDER    THE   BIG    UMBKELLA.  105 

"  What  weather,  Miss  Peggy,"  she  said,  as  she 
came  in.  "  I  thought  it  would  be  a  wet  day,  but  not 
such  a  pour.  It  is  unfortunate  that  I  have  to  go  so 
far  to-day,  isn't  it?  And  I'm  sorry  to  leave  you 
children  alone  too." 

"  Never  mind,"  said  Peggy,  cheerily ;  "  we'll  be 
quite  happy  with  the  soap-bubbles.  I've  got  my 
money  quite  ready.  Mayn't  I  go  and  get  the  pipes 
now?" 

"  Out,  my  dear?  In  such  weather!"  exclaimed 
Miss  Earnshaw. 

"  Oh,  but  it's  quite  near,"  said  Peggy.  "  Just  hop 
out  of  the  door  and  you're  there.  The  boys  always 
buy  their  pipes  there,  and  mamma  goes  there  herself 
sometimes  to  see  the  old  woman." 

"  Well,  wait  a  bit,  anyway.  It  can't  go  on  raining 
as  fast  as  this  all  the  morning  surely.  It's  real  cats 
and  dogs." 

Peggy  looked  up  in  surprise. 

"  Cats  and  dogs,  Miss  Earnshaw  ?  "  she  repeated. 

"  Oh,  bless  you,  my  dear,  it's  only  a  way  of  speak- 
ing," said  the  dressmaker,  a  little  impatiently,  for  she 
was  not  very  much  accustomed  to  children.  "It 
just  means  raining  very  hard." 

Peggy  went  to  the  window  to  look  out  for  herself. 
Yes  indeed  it  was  raining  very  hard.  The  little  girl 
could  not  help  sighing  a  little  as  she  gazed  at  the 
thick  even  gray  of  the  clouds,  hiding  like  a  curtain 
every  trace  of  the  distant  hills  she  was  so  fond  of. 


106  PEGGY:    A   NURSERY    STORY. 

u  I  won't  put  out  the  little  red  shoes  to-day,"  she 
said  to  herself,  "  there's  nothing  for  them  to  see." 

Then  other  thoughts  crept  into  her  mind. 

"  I  wonder  if  it's  raining  at  the  white  cottage 
too,"  she  said  to  herself.  And  aloud  she  asked  a 
question. 

"  Miss  Earnshaw,  pelease,  does  it  ever  rain  in  the 
country  ?  "  she  said. 

"  Rain  in  the  country !  I  should  rather  think  it  did. 
Worse  than  in  town,  you  might  say  —  that's  to  say, 
where  there's  less  shelter,  you'll  get  wetter  and  dirtier 
in  the  country,  only  of  course  it's  not  the  same  kind 
of  really  black  sooty  rain.  But  as  for  mud  in  coun- 
try lanes  !  1  shall  see  something  of  it  this  afternoon, 
I  expect." 

"  Oh,  I'm  so  sorry,"  said  Peggy.  "  I  thought  it 
never  rained  in  the  country.  I  thought  it  was 
always  quite  pretty  and  lovely,"  and  she  sighed 
deeply.  "  I  wonder  what  people  who  live  in  little 
cottages  in  the  country  do  all  day  when  it  rains,"  she 
said. 

"  Why,  my  dear,  much  the  same  as  other  folk,  I 
should  say.  They  have  their  rooms  to  clean,  and 
their  dinner  to  cook,  and  their  children  to  look  after. 
Still  I  dare  say  it'd  be  a  bit  drearier  in  the  country 
of  a  right-down  wet  day  like  this,  even  than  in  town. 
I've  never  lived  there  myself,  except  for  a  week  at  a 
time  at  most,  but  mother  was  all  her  young  days  in 
the  country." 


UNDER    THE   BIG    UMBRELLA.  107 

"  Everybody's  fathers  and  mothers  lived  there," 
said  Peggy,  rather  petulantly.  "  Why  don't  peoples 
let  their  children  live  there  now  ?  " 

Miss  Earnshaw  laughed  a  little.  Peggy  did  not 
like  her  to  laugh  in  that  way,  and  she  gave  herself  a 
little  wriggle,  though  poor  Miss  Earnshaw  certainly 
did  not  mean  to  vex  her. 

"  There  are  plenty  of  children  in  the  country  too, 
Miss  Peggy,"  she  said.  "Mother's  youngest  sister 
has  twelve." 

"  Twelve,"  repeated  Peggy,  "  how  nice !  at  least  if 
there's  lots  of  sisters  among  them,  and  no  very  little 
babies.  Do  they  live  over  in  that  country?"  she 
went  on,  pointing  in  the  direction  of  the  invisible 
hills,  "  that  country  called  Brack  —  You  know  the 
name." 

" Brackenshire,"  said  Miss  Earnshaw,  "no,  my 
mother  comes  from  much  farther  off.  A  very  pretty 
place  it  must  be  by  what  she  says.  Not  but  what 
Brackenshire's  a  pretty  country  too.  I've  been  there 
several  times  with  the  Sunday  school  for  a  treat." 

"  And  did  you  see  the  hills  and  the  white  cot- 
tages ?  "  asked  Peggy  breathlessly. 

"  Oh  yes,  the  hills  are  beautiful,  and  there's  lots  of 
cottages  of  all  kinds.  They  look  pretty  among  the 
trees,  even  though  they're  only  poor  little  places, 
most  of  them." 

"  The  white  ones  is  the  prettiest,"  said  Peggy,  as 
if  she  knew  all  about  it. 


108         PEGGY:  A  NURSERY  STORY. 

"  Yes,  I  dare  say,"  said  Miss  Earnshaw,  without 
paying  much  attention  ;  she  had  got  to  rather  a  diffi- 
cult part  of  the  sleeve  she  was  making. 

"  Did  you  ever  walk  all  the  way  there  when  you 
was  a  little  girl  ?  "  Peggy  went  on. 

"  Oh  yes,  of  course,"  Miss  Earnshaw  replied,  with- 
out the  least  idea  of  what  she  was  answering. 

"  Really  !  "  said  Peggy,  "  how  nice  !  "  Then  seeing 
that  the  dressmaker  was  absorbed  in  her  work :  "  Miss 
Earnshaw,"  she  said,  "  I'm  going  for  the  pipes  now. 
It  isn't  raining  quite  so  fast,  and  I'll  not  be  long." 

"Very  well,  my  dear,"  Miss  Earnshaw  replied, 
and  Peggy  went  off  to  fetch  her  pennies  from  the 
drawer  in  the  other  nursery  where  she  kept  them. 
She  had  a  new  idea  in  her  head,  an  idea  which  Miss 
Earnshaw's  careless  words  had  helped  to  put  there, 
little  as  she  knew  it. 

"  If  I  see  the  Smileys,"  thought  Peggy,  "  I'll  tell 
them  what  she  said." 

She  glanced  out  of  the  window,  dear  me,  how 
lucky !  There  stood  Brown  Smiley  looking  out  at 
the  door,  as  if  she  were  hesitating  before  making  a 
plunge  into  the  dripping  wet  street.  It  did  seem  at 
the  back  as  if  it  were  raining  faster  than  in  front. 
Peggy  opened  the  cupboard  and  took  out  her  little 
cloak  which  was  hanging  there. 

"  I  won't  put  on  my  hat,"  she  thought,  "  'cos  nurse 
says  the  rain  spoils  the  f eavers.  I'll  get  a  numbrella 
downstairs,  and  then  I  can't  get  wet,  and  here's  my 


UNDEK    THE   BIG   UMBRELLA.  109 

pennies  all  right  in  my  pocket.  I  do  hope  Brown 
Smiley  will  wait  till  I  get  down."- 

She  made  all  the  haste  she  could,  and  found,  as 
she  expected,  an  umbrella  in  the  stand  downstairs. 
It  was  not  very  easy  to  open,  but  she  succeeded  at 
last,  then  came,  however,  another  difficulty,  she  could 
not  get  herself  and  the  umbrella  through  the  back 
door  together. 

"  Dear  me,"  thought  Peggy,  "  I  wonder  how  peo- 
ple does  with  their  n umbrellas.  They  must  open 
them  in  the  house,  else  they'd  get  wet  standing  out- 
side while  they're  doing  it.  I  never  looked  to  see 
how  nurse  does,  but  then  we  almost  never  go  out 
when  it's  rainy.  I  'appose  it's  one  of  the  hard  things 
big  peoples  has  to  learn.  Oh,  dear !  won't  it  come 
through?" 

No,  she  couldn't  manage  it,  at  least  not  with  her- 
self under  it.  At  last  a  brilliant  idea  struck  Peggy ; 
anything  was  better  than  closing  the  tiresome  thing 
now  she  had  got  it  opened  —  she  would  send  it  first 
and  follow  after  herself.  So  the  umbrella  was 
passed  through,  and  went  slipping  down  the  two 
or  three  steps  that  led  into  the  yard,  where  it  lay 
gaping  up  reproachfully  at  Peggy,  who  felt  inclined 
to  call  out  "  Never  mind,  poor  thing,  I'm  coming 
d'reckly." 

And  as  "  d'reckly  "  as  possible  she  did  come,  care- 
fully closing  the  door  behind  her,  for  fear  the  rain 
should  get  into  the  house,  which,  together  with  the 


110         PEGGY:  A  NURSERY  STORY. 

picking  up  of  the  umbrella,  far  too  big  and  heavy 
a  one  for  a  tiny  girl,  took  so  long  that  I  am  afraid 
a  good  many  drops  had  time  to  fall  on  the  fail- 
uncovered  head  before  it  got  under  shelter  again. 

But  little  cared  Peggy.  She  felt  as  proud  as 
a  peacock,  the  umbrella  representing  the  tail,  you 
understand,  when  she  found  herself  outside  the  yard 
door,  which  behaved  very  amiably,  fairly  under 
weigh  for  her  voyage  across  the  street.  She  could 
see  nothing  before  her;  fortunately,  however,  no 
carriages  or  carts  ever  came  down  the  narrow  back 
way. 

Half-way  over  Peggy  stopped  short  —  she  had 
forgotten  to  look  if  Brown  Smiley  was  still  standing 
there.  It  was  not  easy  to  get  a  peep  from  under 
the  umbrella,  without  tilting  it  and  herself  back- 
wards on  to  the  muddy  road,  but  with  great  care 
Peggy  managed  it.  Ah  dear,  what  a  disappoint- 
ment !  There  was  no  little  girl  in  front  of  the 
cobbler's  window,  but  glancing  to  one  side,  Peggy 
caught  sight  of  the  small  figure  with  a  shawl  of 
"  mother's  "  quaintly  drawn  over  the  head,  trotting 
away  down  the  street.  With  a  cry  Peggy  dashed 
after  her. 

"  Oh,  Brown  Smiley,"  she  called  out,  "  do  come 
back.  I'm  too  frightened  to  go  to  buy  the  pipes 
alone,"  for  what  with  her  struggles  and  her  excite- 
ment, the  little  damsel's  nerves  were  rather  upset. 
"  Oh,  Brown  Smiley  —  no  —  no,  that's  not  her 


An 


lling  ifs^lf  <*kouton  tru 
from   which 

bihous    wails,  an  umbr^i/f^    frovvi 
tK  v\;h»ch,  wkm  you  ^t  closi  to  if,  y 

su  touo  litHi  -faf 


by 


out,  2s,na 
two 


, 

mudtdii  of  5hoT^ 


1  should 

m  5uxh  c» 

CLft^inly 
bi  C^IUd 

it  not  2  "     ' 


UNDER   THE   BIG   UMBRELLA.  Ill 

name,  oh  what  is  your  name,  Brown  Smiley  ? "  and 
on  along  the  rough  pavement  behind  the  little 
messenger  she  rushed,  if  indeed  poor  Peggy's 
toddling,  flopping  from  one  side  to  another  progress, 
could  possibly  be  called  "  rushing." 

It  came  to  an  end  quickly  —  the  paving-stones 
were  rough  and  uneven,  the  small  feet  had  only  "  my 
noldest  house-shoes  "  to  protect  them,  and  the  "  num- 
brella  "  was  sadly  in  the  way ;  there  came  suddenly 
a  sharp  cry,  so  piercing  and  distressful  that  even 
Matilda-Jane,  accustomed  as  she  was  to  childish 
sounds  of  woe  of  every  kind  and  pitch,  was  startled 
enough  to  turn  round  and  look  behind  her. 

"  Can  it  be  Halfred  come  a-runnin'  after  me  ? " 
she  said  to  herself.  But  the  sight  that  met  her  eyes 
puzzled  her  so,  that  at  the  risk  of  Mother  Whelan's 
scoldings  for  being  so  long,  she  could  not  resist 
running  back  to  examine  for  herself  the  strange 
object.  This  was  nothing  more  nor  less  than  an 
umbrella,  and  an  umbrella  in  itself  is  not  an  un- 
common sight.  But  an  umbrella  rolling  itself  about 
on  the  pavement,  an  umbrella  from  which  proceeds 
most  piteous  wails,  an  umbrella  from  underneath 
which,  when  you  get  close  to  it,  you  see  two  little 
feet  sticking  out  and  by  degrees  two  neat  black  legs, 
and  then  a  muddle  of  short  skirts,  which  by  rights 
should  be  draping  the  legs,  but  have  somehow  got 
all  turned  upside  down  like  a  bird's  feathers  ruffled 
up  the  wrong  way  —  such  an  umbrella,  or  perhaps 


112      PEGGY:  A  NURSERY  STORY. 

I  should  say  an  umbrella  in  such  circumstances, 
certainly  may  be  called  a  strange  sight,  may  it  not? 

Matilda-Jane  Simpkins,  for  that  was  Brown 
Smiley's  whole  long  name,  thought  so  anyway, 
for  she  stood  stock  still,  staring,  and  the  only  thing 
she  could  collect  herself  enough  to  say  was,  "  Lor' !  " 

But  her  state  of  stupefaction  only  lasted  half  a 
moment.  She  was  a  practical  and  business-like 
little  person ;  before  there  was  time  for  another  cry 
for  help,  she  had  disentangled  the  umbrella  and  its 
owner,  and  set  the  latter  on  her  feet  again,  sobbing 
piteously,  and  dreadfully  dirty  and  muddy,  but 
otherwise  not  much  the  worse. 

Then  Matilda-Jane  gave  vent  to  another  excla- 
mation. 

"  Bless  me,  missy,  it's  you  !  "  she  cried.  "  What- 
ever are  you  a-doing  of  to  be  out  in  the  rain  all 
alone,  with  no  'at  and  a  humbrella  four  sizes  too  big 
for  the  likes  of  you,  and  them  paper-soled  things  on 
yer  feet  ?  and,  oh  my !  ain't  yer  frock  muddy  ? 
What'll  your  folk  say  to  you  ?  Or  is  they  all  away 
and  left  you  and  the  cat  to  keep  'ouse  ?  " 

"  I  was  running  after  you,  Brown  Smiley,"  sobbed 
Peggy.  She  could  not  quite  make  out  if  Matilda- 
Jane  was  making  fun  of  her  or  not,  and,  indeed,  to 
do  Matilda  justice,  she  had  no  such  intention.  "  I 
was  running  after  you"  Peggy  repeated,  "and  you 
wouldn't  stop,  and  I  couldn't  run  fast  'cos  of  the 
numbrella,  and  so  I  felled  down." 


UNDER   THE   BIG   UMBRELLA.  113 

"Never  mind,  missy  dear,  you'll  be  none  the 
worse,  you'll  see.  Only,  will  they  give  it  you  when 
you  go  home  for  dirtying  of  your  frock?" 

"  Give  it  me  ?  "  repeated  Peggy. 

"  Yes,  give  it  you ;  will  you  get  it  —  will  you 
catch  it  ?  "  said  Matilda,  impatiently. 

"  I  don't  know  what  you  mean,"  Peggy  replied. 

Matilda  wasted  no  more  words  on  her.  She  took 
her  by  the  arm,  umbrella  and  all,  and  trotted  her 
down  the  street  again  till  they  had  reached  the 
Smiley  mansion.  Then  she  drew  Peggy  inside  the 
doorway  of  the  passage,  whence  a  stair  led  up  to 
Mrs.  Whelan's,  and  to  the  Simpkins's  own  rooms 
above  that  again,  and  having  shut  up  the  umbrella 
with  such  perfect  ease  that  Peggy  gazed  at  her  in 
admiration,  as  she  tried  to  explain  her  meaning. 

"  Look  'ere  now,  miss,"  she  said,  "  which'll  you 
do  —  go  straight  over-the-way  'ome,  just  as  you  are, 
or  come  in  along  of  huz  and  get  yerself  cleaned  up 
a  bit?" 

"  Oh,  I'll  go  in  with  you,  pelease,"  sobbed  Peggy. 
"  P'raps  Miss  Earnshaw  wouldn't  scold  me.  She  let 
me  come,  and  I  didn't  fell  down  on  purpose.  But  I 
know  she  wouldn't  let  me  come  out  again  —  I'm 
sure  she  wouldn't,  and  I  do  so  want  to  get  the 
pipes  my  own  self.  You'll  take  me  to  Mrs. 
Whelan's,  won't  you,  dear  Brown  Smiley  ?  " 

"I'll  catch  it  when  she  sees  I  haven't  done  her 
errant,"  said  Matilda.  "  But  never  mind  ;  she'll  not 


114         PEGGY:  A  NURSERY  STORY. 

be  so  bad  with  you  there,  maybe.  Come  up  with 
me,  missy,  and  I'll  get  Rebecca  to  wipe  you  a  bit," 
and  she  began  the  ascent  of  the  narrow  staircase, 
followed  by  Peggy. 


CHAPTER  IX. 

THE   OPPOSITE   HOUSE. 

"There  was  an  old  woman  that  lived  in  a  shoe, 
She  had  so  many  children  she  didn't  know  what  to  do." 

NURSERY  RHYMES. 

IN  spite  of  her  misfortunes,  Peggy  could  not  help 
feeling  very  pleased  at  finding  herself  at  last  inside 
the  house  she  had  watched  so  often  from  the  outside. 
It  was  certainly  not  a  pretty  house  —  a  big  person 
would  probably  have  thought  it  a  very  poor  and 
uninteresting  one;  but  it  was  not  dirty.  The  old 
wooden  steps  were  scrubbed  down  once  a  week  regu- 
larly, so  there  was  nothing  to  strike  the  little  girl  as 
disagreeable,  and  it  seemed  delightfully  queer  and 
mysterious  as  she  climbed  the  steep,  uneven  staircase, 
which  grew  darker  and  darker  as  they  went  on,  so 
that  but  for  Brown  Smiley's  voice  in  front,  Peggy 
would  not  have  had  the  least  idea  where  she  was 
going. 

"  There's  Mother  Whelan's  door,"  Matilda  said  in 
a  half  whisper,  as  if  afraid  of  the  old  woman's  pounc- 
ing out  upon  them,  and  Peggy  wondered  how  she 
knew  it,  for  to  her  everything  was  perfectly  dark; 
"  but  we'll  go  upstairs  first  to  Rebecca,"  and  on  they 
climbed. 

116 


116         PEGGY:  A  NURSERY  STORY. 

Suddenly,  what  seemed  for  a  moment  a  blaze  of 
brilliant  light  from  the  contrast  with  the  darkness 
where  they  were,  broke  upon  them.  Peggy  quite 
started.  But  it  was  only  the  opening  of  a  door. 

"Is  that  you,  Matilda- Jane ?  My,  but  you  have 
been  sharp.  I  should  think  old  Whelan  'ud  be 
pleased  for  onst." 

The  speaker  was  Reddy;  she  stood  in  the  doorway, 
her  bare  red  arms  shining,  as  they  always  did,  from 
being  so  often  up  to  the  elbows  in  soap  and  water. 

"  Oh,  Rebecca,  don't  say  nothing  but  I've  not  been 
of  my  errant  yet.  Now,  don't  ye  begin  at  me  — 
'tweren't  of  my  fault.  I  was  a-'urryin'  along  when  I 
saw  miss  'ere  a-rollin'  in  the  wet  with  her  humber- 
ellar,  and  I  'ad  to  pick  her  up.  She's  that  muddy 
we  were  afeared  they'd  give  it  her  over  the  way  — 
her  mar's  away.  So  I  told  her  as  you'd  tidy  her  up 
a  bit.  Come  along,  missy.  Rebecca's  got  a  good  'eart, 
has  Rebecca ;  she'll  clean  you  nicely,  you'll  see." 

For  at  the  sound  of  Rebecca's  sharp  voice  poor 
Peggy  had  slunk  back  into  the  friendly  gloom  of  the 
staircase.  But  she  came  creeping  forward  now,  so 
that  Reddy  saw  her. 

"  Lor' ! "  said  the  big  girl,  "  little  miss  from  the 
hopposite  winder  to  be  sure." 

This  quite  restored  Peggy's  courage. 

"Have  you  seen  me  at  the  window?"  she  said. 
"  How  funny  !  I've  looked  at  you  lotses  and  lotses 
of  times,  but  I  never  thought  of  you  looking  at  me." 


THE   OPPOSITE   HOUSE.  117 

To  which  both  sisters  replied  with  their  favourite 
exclamation,  "  Lor' !  " 

Just  then  came  a  voice  from  inside. 

"  Shut  the  door  there  Rebecca,  can't  you  ?  If  there's 
one  thing  I  can't  abide,  and  you  might  know  it,  it's  a 
hopen  door,  and  the  draught  right  on  baby's  head." 

Rebecca  took  Peggy  by  the  hand  and  drew  her 
into  the  room,  and  while  she  was  relating  the  story 
of  little  missy's  misfortunes  to  her  mother,  little 
missy  looked  round  her  with  the  greatest  interest. 

It  was  a  small  room,  but  oh,  how  full  of  children ! 
Dinner  was  being  got  ready  "  against  father  and  the 
boys  coming  home,"  Matilda  said,  but  where  father 
and  the  boys  could  possibly  find  space  to  stand,  much 
less  to  sit,  Peggy  lay  awake  wondering  for  a  long 
time  that  night.  She  counted  over  those  already 
present,  and  found  they  were  all  there  except  Lizzie, 
the  lame  girl.  And  besides  the  two  babies  and 
Alfred,  whom  she  knew  by  sight,  she  was  amazed  to 
see  a  fourth,  a  very  tiny  doll  of  a  thing  — the  tiniest 
thing  she  had  ever  seen,  but  which  they  all  were  as 
proud  of  as  if  there  had  never  been  a  baby  among 
them  before.  At  this  moment  it  was  reposing  in  the 
arms  of  Mary-Hann ;  Light  Smiley,  whose  real  name 
was  Sarah,  you  remember,  was  taking  charge  of  the 
two  big  babies  in  one  corner,  while  Reddy  and  her 
mother  were  busy  at  the  fire,  and  "  Halfred "  was 
amusing  himself  quietly  with  some  marbles,  appar- 
ently his  natural  occupation. 


118  PEGGY:  A  NURSERY  STORY. 

What  a  lot  of  them !  Peggy  began  to  feel  less 
sure  that  she  would  like  to  have  as  many  sisters  as 
the  Smileys.  Still  they  all  looked  happy,  and  their 
mother,  whom  Peggy  had  never  seen  before,  had 
really  a  very  kind  face. 

"  I'll  see  to  the  pot,  Rebecca,"  she  said ;  "  just  you 
wipe  missy's  frock  a  bit.  'Twill  be  none  the  worse, 
you'll  see.  And  so  your  dear  mar's  away,  missy.  I 
'ope  the  change'll  do  her  good." 

"  Yes,  thank  you,"  said  Peggy.  "  She's  gone  to 
the  country.  Did  you  ever  live  in  the  country? 
And  was  it  in  a  white  cottage  ?  " 

Mrs.  Simpkins  smiled. 

"  No,  missy,  I'm  town-bred.  'Tis  father  as  knows 
all  about  the  country;  he's  a  Brackenshire  man." 

"  Oh  yes,"  said  Peggy,  "I  forgot.  It's  Miss  Earn- 
shaw's  mother  I  was  thinking  of." 

uBut  father,"  said  Matilda,  "he  can  tell  lots  of 
tales  about  the  country." 

"  I  wish  he  was  at  home,"  said  Peggy.  "But  I 
must  go,  now  my  frock's  cleaned.  Some  day  p'raps 
I'll  come  again.  Thank  you,  Reddy,"  at  which 
Rebecca,  who  had  been  vigorously  rubbing  Peggy's 
skirts,  stared  and  looked  as  if  she  were  going  to  say 
"  Lor' !  "  "  I'm  going  to  buy  soap-bubble  pipes  at 
Mrs.  Whelan's,"  Peggy  went  on,  for  she  was  losing 
her  shyness  now ;  "  that's  what  I  corned  out  in  the 
rain  for.  We're  going  to  play  at  soap-bubbles  this 
afternoon,  'cos  it's  too  wet  to  go  out  a  walk." 


THE   OPPOSITE   HOUSE.  119 

All  the  Smiley s  listened  with  great  interest. 

"Mayn't  Brown  —  I  mean  Matilda-Jane — come 
with  me,  pelease  ?  "  said  Peggy.  "  I'm  razer  fright- 
ened to  go  to  buy  them  alone ;  sometimes  that  old 
woman  does  look  so  cross." 

"  She  looks  what  she  is  then,"  said  Reddy,  "  'cept 
for  one  thing ;  she's  awful  good  to  Lizzie.  She's 
a-sittin'  down  there  this  very  minute  as  is,  is  Lizzie, 
to  be  out  o'  the  way  like  when  mother  and  me's 
cleaning,  you  see,  miss." 

Brown  Smiley's  face  had  grown  grave. 

"I  dursn't  let  Mother  Whelan  see  as  I've  not 
gone,"  she  said,  "but  if  missy  doesn't  like  to  go 
alone  —  not  as  she'd  be  sharp  to  the  likes  of  you, 
but  still  — " 

"Til  go,"  said  little  Sarah,  Light  Smiley,  that  is 
to  say.  "  Jest  you  see  to*  the  childer  will  ye,  Mary- 
Hann  ?  "  she  shouted  to  the  deaf  sister.  "  I  won't  be 
harf  a  minute." 

"  And  you,  Matilda-Jane,  off  with  you,"  said 
Rebecca,  which  advice  Brown  Smiley  instantly  fol- 
lowed. 

Sarah  took  Peggy's  hand  to  escort  her  down  the 
dark  staircase  again.  Light  Smiley  was,  of  all  the 
family  perhaps,  Peggy's  favourite.  She  was  two 
years  or  so  older  than  her  little  opposite  neighbour, 
but  she  scarcely  looked  it,  for  both  she  and  Brown 
Smiley  were  small  and  slight,  and  when  you  came 
to  speak  to  them  both,  Sarah  seemed  a  good  deal 


120         PEGGY:  A  NURSERY  STORY. 

younger  than  Matilda;  she  was  so  much  less 
managing  and  decided  in  manner,  but  on  the  present 
occasion  Peggy  would  have  preferred  the  elder 
Smiley,  for  to  tell  the  truth  her  heart  was  beginning 
to  beat  much  faster  than  usual  at  the  thought  of 
facing  Mrs.  Whelan  in  her  den. 

"  Isn't  you  frightened,  Light  Smiley?"  asked  the 
little  girl  when  the  two  stopped,  and  Peggy  knew 
by  this  that  they  must  be  at  the  old  woman's  door. 

"  Oh  no,"  Sarah  replied.  "  'Tisn't  as  if  we'd  been 
up  to  any  mischief,  you  see.  And  Lizzie's  there. 
She's  mostly  quiet  when  Lizzie's  there." 

So  saying  she  pushed  the  door  open.  It  had  a 
bell  inside,  which  forthwith  began  to  tinkle  loudly, 
and  made  Peggy  start.  This  bell  was  the  pride  of 
Mrs.  Whelan's  heart;  it  made  such  a  distinction,  she 
thought,  between  her  and  the  rest  of  the  tenants  of 
the  house,  and  the  more  noisily  it  rang  the  better 
pleased  she  was.  Sarah  knew  this,  and  gave  the 
door  a  good  shove,  at  the  same  time  pulling  Peggy 
into  the  room. 

"  What's  it  yer  afther  now,  and  what's  become  of 
Matilda- Jane  ?"  called  out  the  old  woman,  not,  at 
the  first  moment,  catching  sight  of  Peggy. 

"  It's  little  missy  from  over-the-way,"  Sarah  has- 
tened to  explain ;  "  she's  come  to  buy  some  pipes  of 
you,  Mother  Whelan." 

Mrs.  Whelan  looked  at  Peggy  where  she  stood 
behind  Sarah,  gravely  staring  about  her. 


lo   D€  sut£  ,   ski  sai 
in    htr    most  dYcxclouS 
tone  .        Tis    tht 
fal    bi 

'tis    f>roud  1 
(ourty  ^ 
and   on  5  hi 
ZX     cnJ      cxtzrinc^  spach 


f  a/I    rht    timi    ski 


down    from    a   K;<gk   sfu/f  exn  old 
boa.rd     box,  contcXinincT    lair 
stock   of    cl<2vy    |oi|o^5.     '  p  I2I 


THE   OPPOSITE   HOUSE.  121 

"  To  be  sure,"  she  said  in  her  most  gracious  tone. 
"  'Tis  the  beautiful  pipes  I  have.  And  'tis  proud 
I  am  to  say  the  purty  young  lady,"  and  on  she  went 
with  a  long  flattering  speech  about  Peggy's  likeness 
to  her  "  swate  mother,"  and  inquiries  after  the  lady's 
health,  all  the  time  she  was  reaching  down  from  a 
high  shelf  an  old  broken  cardboard  box,  containing 
her  stock  of  clay  pipes. 

Peggy  did  not  answer.  In  the  first  place,  thanks 
to  the  old  woman's  Irish  accent  and  queer  way  of 
speaking,  she  did  not  understand  a  quarter  of  what 
she  said.  Then  her  eyes  were  busy  gazing  all  about, 
and  her  nose  was  even  less  pleasantly  occupied,  for 
there  was  a  very  strong  smell  in  the  room.  It  was 
a  sort  of  mixed  smell  of  everything  —  not  like  the 
curious  "  everything  "  smell  that  one  knows  so  well 
in  a  village  shop  in  the  country,  which  for  my  part 
I  think  rather  nice  —  a  smell  of  tea,  and  coffee,  and 
bacon,  and  nuts,  and  soap,  and  matting,  and  brown 
holland,  and  spices,  and  dried  herbs,  all  mixed  to- 
gether, but  with  a  clean  feeling  about  it  —  no,  the 
smell  in  Mrs.  Whelan's  was  much  stuffier  and  snuf- 
fier.  For  joined  to  the  odour  of  all  the  things  I  have 
named  was  that  of  herrings  and  tobacco  smoke,  and, 
I  rather  fear,  of  whisky.  And  besides  all  this,  I  am 
very  much  afraid  that  not  only  a  spring  cleaning, 
but  a  summer  or  autumn  or  winter  cleaning,  were 
unknown  events  in  the  old  woman's  room.  No  won- 
der that  Peggy,  fresh  from  the  soft-soap-and-water 


122  PEGGY:  A  NURSERY  STORY. 

smell  of  the  Simpkins's  upstairs,  sniffed  uneasily  and 
wished  Mrs.  Whelan  would  be  quick  with  the  pipes ; 
her  head  felt  so  queer  and  confused. 

But  looking  round  she  caught  sight  of  a  very 
interesting  object ;  this  was  Lizzie,  rocking  herself 
gently  on  her  chair  in  a  corner,  and  seeming  quite  at 
home.  Peggy  ran  —  no  she  couldn't  run  —  the  room 
was  so  crowded,  for  a  counter  stood  across  one  end, 
and  in  the  other  a  big  square  old  bedstead,  and  be- 
tween the  two  were  a  table  and  one  or  two  chairs, 
and  an  old  tumble-down  chest  of  drawers  —  made  her 
way  over  to  Lizzie. 

"  How  do  you  do,  Crip  —  Lizzie,  I  mean  ?  I  hope 
your  pains  aren't  very  bad  to-day  ?  " 

"  Not  so  very,  thank  you,  miss,"  said  the  poor  girl. 
"  It's  nice  and  quiet  in  here,  and  the  quiet  does  me  a 
deal  o'  good." 

Peggy  sighed. 

"  I  don't  like  being  very  quiet,"  she  said.  "  I  wish 
you  would  come  over  to  the  nursery;  now  that  Hal 
and  baby  and  nurse  are  away  it's  dreffully  quiet." 

"But  you  wouldn't  care  to  change  places  with 
me,  would  you,  missy  ?  "  said  Lizzie.  "  I'm  thinking 
you'd  have  noise  enough  if  you  were  upstairs  some- 
times. My  —  it  do  go  through  one's  head,  to  be 
sure." 

Peggy  looked  very  sympathising. 

"Aren't  you  frightened  of  her?"  she  whispered, 
nodding  gently  towards  Mrs.  Whelan. 


THE   OPPOSITE    HOUSE.  123 

"Not  a  bit  of  it,"  said  Lizzie,  also  lowering  her 
voice  ;  "  she's  right  down  good  to  me,  is  the  old  body. 
She  do  scold  now  and  then  and  no  mistake,  but  bless 
you,  she'd  never  lay  a  finger  on  me,  and  it's  no  wonder 
she's  in  a  taking  with  the  children  when  they  kicks 
up  a  hextra  row,  so  to  say." 

Peggy's  mouth  had  opened  gradually  during  this 
speech,  and  now  it  remained  so.  She  could  not  un- 
derstand half  Lizzie's  words,  but  she  had  no  time  to 
ask  for  an  explanation,  for  just  then  Light  Smiley 
called  to  her  to  come  and  look  at  the  pipes  which 
were  by  this  time  waiting  for  her  on  the  counter. 

They  were  the  cleanest  things  in  the  room  —  the 
only  clean  things  it  seemed  to  Peggy  as  she  lifted 
them  up  one  by  one  to  choose  six  very  nice  ones. 
And  then  she  paid  her  pennies  and  ran  back  to  shake 
hands  with  Lizzie  and  say  good-bye  to  her  —  she  won- 
dered if  she  should  shake  hands  with  Mrs.  Whelan 
too,  but  fortunately  the  old  woman  did  not  seem  to 
expect  it,  and  Peggy  felt  very  thankful,  for  her  brown 
wrinkled  hands  looked  sadly  dirty  to  the  little  girl, 
dirtier  perhaps  than  they  really  were. 

"I  like  your  house  much  better  than  hers,"  said 
Peggy,  when  she  and  Light  Smiley  were  down  at 
the  bottom  of  the  stairs  again;  "it  smells  much 
nicer." 

"  Mother  and  Rebecca's  all  for  scrubbing,  that's 
certing,"  replied  Sarah,  with  a  smile  of  pleasure  —  of 
course  all  little  girls  like  to  hear  their  homes  praised 


124  PEGGY:    A  NURSERY  STORY. 

—  "  but  she's  not  bad  to  Lizzie,  is  old  Whelan,"  as  if 
that  settled  the  whole  question,  and  Peggy  felt  she 
must  not  say  any  more  about  the  dirty  room. 

Light  Smiley  felt  it  her  duty  to  see  "  missy  "  safe 
across  the  street.  Peggy's  hands  were  laden  with 
the  precious  pipes,  and  Sarah  carried  the  big  umbrella 
over  the  two  of  them.  They  chattered  as  they  picked 
their  way  through  the  mud  and  stood  for  a  minute  or 
two  at  the  yard-door  of  Peggy's  house.  Light  Smiley 
peeped  in. 

uLor',"  she  said,  expressing  her  feelings  in  the 
same  way  as  her  sisters,  "  yours  must  be  a  fine  house, 
missy.  All  that  there  back-yard  for  yerselves." 

"You  should  see  the  droind-room,  and  mamma's 
room ;  there's  a  marble  top  to  the  washing-stand," 
said  Peggy,  with  pride. 

"  Lor',"  said  Sarah  again. 

"Some  day,"  Peggy  went  on,  excited  by  Sarah's 
admiration,  "  some  day  when  my  mamma  comes  home, 
I'm  going  to  ask  her  to  let  me  have  a  tea-party  of  you 
all  —  in  the  nursery,  you  know.  The  nursery's  nice 
too,  at  least  I  dare  say  you'd  like  it." 

"  Is  that  the  winder  where  you  sees  us  from  ? " 
asked  Sarah.  "  Matilda-Jane  says  as  how  we  could 
see  you  too  quite  plain  at  it  if  you  put  your  face  quite 
close  to  the  glass." 

"I  can't,"  said  Peggy.  "There's  the  toilet-table 
close  to  the  window  —  at  least,  it's  really  a  chest  of 
drawers,  you  know,  but  there's  a  looking-glass  on  the 


THE   OPPOSITE  HOUSE.  125 

top  and  a  white  cover,  so  it's  like  a  toilet-table  for 
nurse,  though  its  too  high  up  for  me.  I  have  to 
stand  on  a  chair  if  I  want  to  see  myself  popperly." 

"  Dear  !  "  said  Sarah  sympathisingly. 

uAnd  I  can  only  see  you  by  scrooging  into  the 
corner,  and  the  curting's  there.  No,  you  couldn't 
ever  see  me  well  up  at  the  window.  But  that's  not 
the  nursery  where  we'd  have  tea.  That's  only  the 
night  nursery.  The  other  one's  to  the  front ;  that's 
the  window  where  you  can  see  the  hills  far  away." 

"  In  the  country,  where  father  used  to  live.  Oh 
yes,  I  know.  I  heerd  Matilda-Jane  a-asking  'im 
about  it,"  said  Sarah. 

"  Oh,  and  did  he  tell  you  any  more  ?  Do  ask 
him  if  it's  really  not  far  to  get  there,"  said  Peggy, 
eagerly. 

Sarah  nodded. 

"I  won't  forget,"  she  said;  "and  then,  missy, 
when  you  axes  us  to  the  tea-party,  I'll  be  able  to 
tell  you  all  about  it." 

She  did  not  mean  to  be  cunning,  poor  little  girl, 
but  she  was  rather  afraid  Peggy  might  forget  about 
the  tea-party,  and  she  thought  it  was  not  a  bad  plan 
to  say  something  which  might  help  to  make  her 
remember  it. 

"  Yes,"  Peggy  replied,  "  that  would  be  lovely.  Do 
make  him  tell  all  you  can,  Light  Smiley.  Oh, 
I  do  wish  mamma  would  come  home  now,  and  I'd 
ask  her  about  the  tea-party  immediately.  I'm  sure 


126          PEGGY:  A  NURSERY  STORY. 

she'd  let  me,  for  she  likes  us  to  be  kind  to  poor 
people." 

Sarah  drew  herself  up  a  little  at  this. 

"  We're  not  —  not  to  say  poor  folk,"  she  said,  with 
some  dignity.  "  There's  a  many  of  us,  and  it's  hard 
enough  work,  but  still  —  " 

"  Oh,  don't  be  vexed,"  said  Peggy.  "  I  know 
you're  not  like  —  like  beggars,  you  know.  And  I 
think  we're  rather  poor  too.  Mamma  often  says  papa 
has  to  work  hard." 

Sarah  grew  quite  friendly  again. 

"  I  take  it  folks  isn't  often  rich  when  they've  a  lot 
of  children,"  she  began,  but  the  sound  of  a  window 
opening  across  the  street  made  her  start.  "Bless 
me,"  she  said,  "  I  must  run.  There's  Rebecca  a-going 
to  scold  me  for  standing  talking.  Good-bye,  miss, 
I'll  not  forget  to  ask  father." 

And  Sarah  darted  away,  carrying  with  her  the 
umbrella,  quite  forgetting  that  it  was  Peggy's. 
Peggy  forgot  it  too,  and  it  was  not  raining  so  fast 
now,  so  there  was  less  to  remind  her.  She  shut  the 
door  and  ran  across  the  yard.  The  house  door  still 
stood  open,  and  she  made  her  way  up  to  the  nursery 
without  meeting  any  one. 


CHAPTER  X. 

"  SOAP-BUBBLING." 

"  And  every  colour  see  I  there." 

The  Rainbow.  —  CHARLES  LAMB. 

THERE  was  no  one  upstairs.  Miss  Earnshaw  had 
gone  down  to  the  kitchen  to  iron  the  seams  of  her 
work,  without  giving  special  thought  to  Peggy.  If 
any  one  had  asked  her  where  the  child  was  she 
would  have  probably  answered  that  she  was  count- 
ing over  her  money  in  the  night  nursery.  So  she 
was  rather  surprised  when  coming  upstairs  again  in 
a  few  minutes  she  was  met  by  Peggy  flying  to  meet 
her  with  the  pipes  in  her  hand. 

"I've  got  them,  Miss  Earnshaw;  aren't  they 
beauties?"  she  cried.  "  And  I  don't  think  my  frock's 
reely  spoilt?  It  only  just  looks  a  little  funny  where 
the  mud  was." 

"  Bless  me ! "  exclaimed  the  young  dressmaker, 
"wherever  have  you  been,  Miss  Peggy?  No,  your 
frock'll  brush  all  right ;  but  you  don't  mean  to  say 
you've  been  out  in  the  rain  ?  You  should  have  asked 
me,  my  dear." 

She  spoke  rather  reproachfully ;  she  was  a  little 
vexed  with  herself  for  not  having  looked  after  the 

127 


128  PEGGY:   A   NURSERY   STORY. 

child  better,  but  Peggy  was  one  of  those  quiet  "  old- 
fashioned  "  children,  who  never  seem  to  need  looking 
after. 

"  I  did  ask  you,"  said  Peggy,  opening  wide  her 
eyes,  "  and  you  said,  '  Very  well,  my  dear.' ' 

Miss  Earnshaw  couldn't  help  smiling. 

"  I  must  have  been  thinking  more  of  your  new 
frock  than  of  yourself,"  she  said.  "  However,  I  hope 
it's  done  you  no  harm.  Your  stockings  aren't 
wet?" 

"  Oh  no,"  said  Peggy ;  "  my  slippers  were  a  ween}' 
bit  wet,  so  I've  changed  them.  My  frock  wouldn't 
have  been  dirtied,  only  I  felled  in  the  wet,  Miss 
Earnshaw,  but  Brown  —  one  of  the  little  girls,  you 
know,  that  lives  in  the  house  where  the  shop  is  — 
picked  me  up,  and  there's  no  harm  done,  is  there? 
And  I've  got  the  pipes,  and  won't  my  brothers  be 
peleased,"  she  chirruped  on  in  her  soft,  cheery  way. 

Miss  Earnshaw  could  not  blame  her,  though  she 
determined  to  be  more  on  the  look-out  for  the 
future.  And  soon  after  came  twelve  o'clock,  and 
then  the  young  dressmaker  was  obliged  to  go,  bidding 
Peggy  "  Good-bye  till  Monday  morning." 

The  boys  came  home  wet  and  hungry,  and  grum- 
bling a  good  deal  at  the  rainy  half-holiday.  Peggy 
had  hidden  the  six  pipes  in  her  little  bed,  but  after 
dinner  she  made  the  three  boys  shut  their  eyes  while 
she  fetched  them  out  and  laid  them  in  a  row  on  the 
table.  Then,  "You  may  look  now,"  she  said;  "it's 


129 

my  apprise,"  and  she  stood  at  one  side  to  enjoy  the 
sight  of  their  pleasure. 

"  Hurrah,"  cried  Terry,  "  pipes  for  soap-bubbles  ! 
Isn't  it  jolly  ?  Isn't  Peggy  a  brick  ?  " 

"  Dear  Peggy,"  said  Baldwin,  holding  up  his 
plump  face  for  a  kiss. 

"  Poor  old  Peg-top,"  said  Thor,  patronisingly. 
"  They  seem  very  good  pipes  ;  and  as  there's  six  of 
them,  you  and  I  can  break  one  a-piece  if  we  like, 
Terry,  without  its  mattering." 

Peggy  looked  rather  anxious  at  this. 

"  Don't  try  to  break  them,  Thor,  pelease,"  she 
said  ;  "  for  if  you  beginned  breaking  it  might  go  on, 
and  then  it  would  be  all  spoilt  like  the  last  time,  for 
there's  no  fun  in  soap-bubbling  by  turns." 

"  No,  that's  quite  true,"  said  Terry.  "  You  re- 
member the  last  time  how  stupid  it  was.  But  of 
course  we  won't  break  any,  'specially  as  they're 
yours,  Peggy.  We'll  try  and  keep  them  good  for 
another  time." 

"  Did  you  spend  all  your  pennies  for  them  ? " 
asked  Baldwin,  sympathisingly. 

"  Not  quite  all,"  said  Peggy.  "  I  choosed  them 
myself,"  she  went  on,  importantly.  "  There  was  a 
lot  in  a  box." 

"  Why,  where  did  you  get  them  ?  You  didn't  go 
yourself  to  old  Whelan's,  surely  ? "  asked  Thor, 
sharply. 

"  Yes,  I  runned  across  the  road,"  said  Peggy. 
"  You  always  get  them  there,  Thor." 


130         PEGGY:  A  NURSERY  STORY. 

"  But  it's  quite  different.  I  can  tell  you  mamma 
won't  be  very  pleased  when  she  comes  home  to  hear 
you've  been  so  disobedient." 

Poor  Peggy's  face,  so  bright  and  happy,  clouded 
over,  and  she  seemed  on  the  point  of  bursting  into 
tears. 

"  I  weren't  disobedient,"  she  began.  "  Miss  Earn- 
shaw  said,  '  Very  well,  dear,'  and  so  I  thought  — 

"  Of  course,"  interrupted  Terry ;  "  Peggy's  never 
disobedient,  Thor.  We'll  ask  mamma  when  she 
comes  home;  but  she  won't  be  vexed  with  you, 
darling.  You  won't  need  to  go  again  before  then." 

"  No,"  said  Peggy,  comforted,  "  I  don't  want  to 
go  again,  Terry  dear.  It  doesn't  smell  very  nice  in 
the  shop.  But  the  children's  house  is  very  clean, 
Terry.  I'm  sure  mamma  would  let  us  go  there" 

"  Those  Simpkinses  over  old  Whelan's,"  said 
Terry.  "  Oh  yes,  I  know  mother  goes  there  herself 
sometimes,  though  as  for  that  she  goes  to  old 
Whelan's  too.  But  we're  wasting  time;  let's  ask 
Fanny  for  a  tin  basin  and  lots  of  soap." 

They  were  soon  all  four  very  happy  at  the  pretty 
play.  The  prettiness  of  it  was  what  Peggy  enjoyed 
the  most;  the  boys,  boy-like,  thought  little  but  of 
who  could  blow  the  biggest  bubbles,  which,  as 
everybody  knows,  are  seldom  as  rich  in  colour  as 
smaller  ones. 

"  I  like  the  rainbowiest  ones  best,"  said  Peggy. 
"I  don't  care  for  those  'normous  ones  Thor  makes. 
Do  you,  Baldwin  ?  " 


n£y   WETS    soon  all   four  vtry 

at  tkt  pfitfy  plevy.     TJx* 

of   if    was    what  P^ggy   mo5^ 

,     \30V- 

but  of  who 
could  blou/ 

icK,  ^J    Jvirybodx 

sglolom  evS   rich    in 
colour 


"  SOAP-BUBBLING."  131 

Baldwin  stopped  to  consider. 

"  I  suppose  very  big  things  aren't  never  so  pretty 
as  littler  things,"  he  said  at  last,  when  a  sort  of  grunt 
from  Terry  interrupted  him.  Terry  could  not  speak, 
his  cheeks  were  all  puffed  out  round  the  pipe,  and  he 
dared  not  stop  blowing.  He  could  only  grunt  and 
nod  his  head  sharply  to  catch  their  attention  to  the 
wonderful  triumph  in  soap-bubbles  floating  before 
his  nose.  There  was  a  big  one,  as  big  as  any  of 
Thorold's,  and  up  on  the  top  of  it  a  lovely  e very- 
coloured  wee  one,  the  most  brilliant  the  children  had 
ever  seen  —  a  real  rainbow  ball. 

They  all  clapped  their  hands,  at  least  Peggy  and 
Baldwin  did  so.  Thorold  shouted,  "  Hurrah  for 
Terry's  new  invention.  It's  like  a  monkey  riding  on 
an  elephant."  But  Peggy  did  not  think  that  was  a 
pretty  idea. 

"  It's  more  like  one  of  the  very  little  stars  sitting 
on  the  sun's  knee,"  was  her  comparison,  which  Bald- 
win corrected  to  the  moon  —  the  sun  was  too  yellow, 
he  said,  to  be  like  a  no-colour  bubble. 

Then  they  all  set  to  work  to  try  to  make  double- 
bubbles,  and  Thor  actually  managed  to  make  three, 
one  on  the  top  of  the  other.  And  Terry  made  a  very 
big  one  run  ever  so  far  along  the  carpet  without 
breaking,  bobbing  and  dancing  along  as  he  blew  it 
ever  so  gently. 

And  as  a  finish-up  they  all  four  put  their  pipes 
into  the  basin  and  blew  together,  making  what  they 


132  PEGGY:  A  NURSERY  STORY. 

called  "  bubble-pudding,"  till  the  pudding  seemed  to 
get  angry  and  gurgled  and  wobbled  itself  up  so  high 
that  it  ended  by  toppling  over,  and  coming  to  an  un- 
timely end  as  a  little  spot  of  soap}^  water  on  the  table. 

"  Pride  must  have  a  fall,  you  see,"  said  Thor. 

"  It's  like  the  story  of  the  frog  that  tried  to  be  as 
big  as  an  ox,"  said  Terence,  at  which  they  all  laughed 
as  a  very  good  joke. 

Altogether  Peggy's  pipes  turned  out  a  great  suc- 
cess, and  the  rainy  afternoon  passed  very  happily. 

The  Sunday  that  came  after  that  Saturday  was 
showery,  sunny,  and  rainy  by  turns,  like  a  child  who 
having  had  a  great  fit  of  crying  and  sobbing  can't 
get  over  it  all  at  once,  and  keeps  breaking  into  little 
bursts  of  tears  again,  long  after  the  sorrow  is  all  over. 
But  by  Monday  morning  the  world  —  Peggy's  world, 
that  is  to  say  —  seemed  to  have  quite  recovered  its 
spirits.  The  sun  came  out  smiling  with  pleasure, 
and  even  the  town  birds,  who  know  so  little  about 
trees,  and  grass,  and  flowers,  and  all  those  delightful 
things,  hopped  about  and  chirruped  as  nicely  as 
could  be.  The  boys  set  off  to  school  in  good  spirits, 
and  while  Fanny  was  taking  down  the  breakfast- 
things  Peggy  got  out  the  little  red  shoes,  and  set 
them  on  the  window-sill,  where  they  had  not  been 
for  several  days. 

"  There,  dear  little  red  shoes,"  she  said,  softly, 
"  you  may  look  out  again  at  the  pretty  sun  and  the 
sky,  and  the  fairy  cottage  up  on  the  mounting.  You 


"  SOAP-BUBBLING."  133 

can  see  it  quite  plain  to-day,  dear  little  shoes.  The 
clouds  is  all  gone  away,  and  it's  shinin'  out  all  white 
and  beautiful,  and  I  dare  say  the  mamma's  standin' 
at  the  door  with  the  baby — >or  p'raps,"  Peggy  was 
never  very  partial  to  the  baby,  "it's  asleep  in  its 
cradle.  Yes,  I  think  that's  it.  And  the  hens  and 
cocks  and  chickens  is  all  pecking  about,  and  the 
cows  moo'in.  Oh,  how  I  do  wish  we  could  go  and 
see  them  all,  don't  you,  dear  little  shoes  ?  " 

She  stood  gazing  up  at  the  tiny  white  speck,  to 
other  eyes  almost  invisible,  as  if  by  much  gazing  it 
would  grow  nearer  and  clearer  to  her ;  there  was  a 
smile  on  her  little  face,  sweet  visions  floated  before 
Peggy's  mind  of  a  day,  "some  day,"  when  mamma 
should  take  her  out  "  to  the  country,"  to  see  for  her- 
self the  lovely  and  delightful  sights  that  same  dear 
mamma  had  described. 

Suddenly  Fanny's  voice  brought  her  back  to 
present  things.  Fanny  was  looking  rather  troubled. 

"Miss  Peggy,  love,"  she  said,  "cook  and  I  can't 
think  what's  making  Miss  Earnshaw  so  late  this 
morning.  She's  always  so  sharp  to  her  time.  I 
don't  like  leaving  you  alone,  but  I  don't  know  what 
else  to  do.  Monday's  the  orkardest  day,  for  we're 
always  so  busy  downstairs,  and  your  papa  was  just 
saying  this  morning  that  I  was  to  tell  Miss  Earnshaw 
to  take  you  a  nice  long  walk  towards  the  country, 
seeing  as  it's  so  fine  a  day.  It  will  be  right  down 
tiresome,  it  will,  if  she  don't  come." 


134         PEGGY:  A  NURSERY  STORY. 

"Never  mind,  Fanny,"  said  Peggy.  "I  don't 
mind  much  being  alone,  and  I  dare  say  Miss  Earn- 
shaw  will  come.  I  should  like  to  go  a  nice  walk 
to-day,"  she  could  not  help  adding,  with  a  longing 
glance  out  at  the  sunny  sky. 

"To  be  sure  you  would,"  said  Fanny,  "and  it 
stands  to  reason  as  you  won't  be  well  if  you  don't 
get  no  fresh  air.  I  hope  to  goodness  the  girl  will 
come,  but  I  doubt  it  —  her  mother's  ill  maybe,  and 
she's  no  one  to  send.  Well,  dear,  you'll  try  and 
amuse  yourself,  and  I'll  get  on  downstairs  as  fast  as 
I  can." 

Peggy  went  back  to  the  window  and  stood  there 
for  a  minute  or  two,  feeling  rather  sad.  It  did  seem 
hard  that  things  should  go  so  very  "contrarily" 
sometimes. 

"Just  when  it's  such  a  fine  day,"  she  thought, 
"Miss  Earnshaw  doesn't  come.  And  on  Saturday 
when  we  couldn't  have  goned  a  walk  she  did  come. 
Only  on  Saturday  it  did  rain  very  badly  in  the 
afternoon  and  she  didn't  stay,  so  that  wasn't  a  pity." 

Then  her  thoughts  went  wandering  off  to  what 
the  dressmaker  had  told  her  of  having  to  go  a  long 
way  out  into  the  country  on  Saturday  afternoon,  and 
of  how  wet  and  muddy  the  lanes  would  be.  Peggy 
sighed ;  she  couldn't  believe  country  lanes  could  ever 
be  anything  but  delightful. 

"  Oh  how  very  pretty  they  must  be  to-day,"  she 
said  to  herself,  "  with  all  the  little  flowers  coming 


"  SOAP-BUBBLING."  135 

peeping  out,  and  the  birds  singing,  and  the  cocks 
and  hens,  and  the  cows,  and  —  and—  "  she  was  be- 
coming a  little  confused.  Indeed  she  wasn't  quite 
sure  what  a  "lane"  really  meant  —  she  knew  it  was 
some  kind  of  a  way  to  walk  along,  but  she  had  heard 
the  word  "  path  "  too,  —  were  "  lane  "  and  "  path  " 
quite  the  same  ?  she  wondered.  And  while  she  was 
wondering  and  gazing  out  of  the  window,  she  was 
startled  all  of  a  sudden  by  a  soft,  faint  tap  at  the 
door.  So  soft  and  faint  that  if  it  had  been  at  the 
window  instead  of  at  the  door  it  might  have  been 
taken  for  the  flap  of  a  sparrow's  wing  as  it  flew  past. 
Peggy  stood  quite  still  and  listened ;  she  heard  noth- 
ing more,  and  was  beginning  to  think  it  must  have 
been  her  fancy,  when  again  it  came,  and  this  time 
rather  more  loudly.  "  Tap,  tap."  Yes,  "  certingly," 
thought  Peggy,  "  there's  somebody  there." 

She  felt  a  little,  a  very  little  frightened. 

Should  she  go  to  the  door  and  peep  out,  or  should 
she  call  "  Come  in  "  ?  she  asked  herself.  And  one  or 
two  of  the  "  ogre  "  stories  that  Thorold  and  Terry 
were  so  fond  of  in  their  "  Grimm's  Tales,"  would 
keep  coming  into  her  head  —  stories  of  little  prin- 
cesses shut  up  alone,  or  of  giants  prowling  about  to 
find  a  nice  tender  child  for  supper.  Peggy  shiv- 
ered. But  after  all  what  was  the  use  of  standing 
there  fancying  things  ?  It  was  broad,  sunny  day- 
light —  not  at  all  the  time  for  ogres  or  such-like  to  be 
abroad.  Peggy  began  to  laugh  at  her  own  silliness. 


136         PEGGY:  A  NURSERY  STORY. 

"  Very  likely,"  she  thought,  "  it's  Miss  Earnshaw 
playing  me  a  trick  to  'apprise  me,  'cos  she's  so  late 
this  morning." 

This  idea  quite  took  away  her  fear. 

"  It's  you,  Miss  Earnshaw,  I'm  quite  sure  it's  you," 
she  called  out;  "come  in  quick,  you  funny  Miss 
Earnshaw.  Come  in." 

But  though  the  door  slowly  opened,  no  Miss  Earn- 
shaw appeared.  Peggy  began  to  think  this  was 
carrying  fun  too  far. 

"  Why  don't  you  come  in  quick  ?  "  she  said,  her 
voice  beginning  to  tremble  a  little. 

The  door  opened  a  little  farther. 

"  Missy,"  said  a  low  voice,  a  childish  hesitating 
voice,  quite  different  from  Miss  Earnshaw's  quick 
bright  way  of  speaking.  "  Missy,  please,  it's  me, 
Sarah,  please,  miss." 

And  the  door  opened  more  widely,  and  in  came, 
slowly  and  timidly  still,  a  small  figure  well  known 
to  Peggy.  It  was  none  other  than  Light  Smiley. 

Peggy  could  hardly  speak.  She  was  so  very  much 
astonished. 

"  Light  Smiley  —  Sarah,  I  mean,"  she  exclaimed, 
"  how  did  you  come  ?  Did  you  see  Fanny  ?  Did 
she  tell  you  to  come  upstairs  ?  " 

Sarah  shook  her  head. 

"  I  don't  know  who  Fanny  is,  missy.  I  just 
corned  in  of  myself.  The  doors  was  both  open,  and 
I  didn't  meet  nobody.  I  didn't  like  for  to  ring  or 


137 

knock.  I  thought  mebbe  your  folk'd  scold  if  I  did 
—  a  gel  like  me.  Mother  knows  I've  corned ;  she 
said  as  how  I'd  better  bring  it  myself." 

And  she  held  up  what  Peggy  had  not  noticed 
that  she  was  carrying  —  the  big  umbrella  that  had 
caused  so  much  trouble  two  days  before. 

"  The  numbrella,"  cried  Peggy.  "  Oh  thank  you, 
Sarah,  for  bringing  it  back.  I  never  thought  of  it ! 
How  stupid  it  was  of  me." 

"  Mother  told  me  for  to  bring  it  to  the  door  and 
give  it  in,"  Sarah  went  on.  "  I  didn't  mean  to  come 
upstairs,  but,  the  door  was  open,  you  see,  miss,  and 
I  knowed  your  nussery  was  at  the  top,  and  —  I  'ope 
it's  not  a  liberty." 

"No,  no,"  said  Peggy,  her  hospitable  feelings 
awaking  to  see  that  her  little  visitor  was  still  stand- 
ing timidly  in  the  doorway,  "  I'm  very  glad  you've 
corned.  You  don't  know  how  glad  I  am.  It's  so 
lonely  all  by  myself  —  Miss  Earnshaw  hasn't  come 
this  morning.  Come  in,  Light  Smiley,  do  come  in. 
Oh  now  nice !  I  can  show  you  the  mountings  and 
the  little  white  cottage  shining  in  the  sun." 

She  drew  Sarah  forwards.  But  before  the  child 
looked  out  of  the  window,  her  eyes  were  caught  by 
the  tiny  red  slippers  on  the  sill. 

"  Lor',"  she  said  breathlessly,  "  what  splendid 
shoes !  Are  they  for  —  for  your  dolly,  missy  ? 
They're  too  small  for  a  baby,  bain't  they  ?  " 

"  Oh  yes,"  said  Peggy,  "  they're  too  small  for  our 
baby,  a  great  deal.  But  then  he's  very  fat." 


138  PEGGY:    A   NURSERY   STORY. 

"  They'd  be  too  small  for  ours  too,  though  she's 
not  a  hextra  fine  child  for  her  age.  She  were  a  very 
poor  specimint  for  a  good  bit,  mother  says,  but  she's 
pickin'  up  now  she's  got  some  teeth  through.  My  — 
but  them  shoes  is  neat,  to  be  sure !  They  must  be 
for  a  dolly." 

"  Tve  no  doll  they'd  do  for,"  said  Peggy,  "  but  I 
like  them  just  for  theirselves.  I  always  put  them  to 
stand  there  on  a  fine  day ;  they  like  to  look  out  of 
the  window." 

Sarah  stared  at  Peggy  as  if  she  thought  she  was 
rather  out  of  her  mind !  —  indeed  the  children  at  the 
back  had  hinted  to  each  other  that  missy,  for  all  she 
was  a  real  little  lady,  was  very  funny-like  sometimes. 
But  Peggy  was  quite  unconscious  of  it. 

"  Lor',"  said  Sarah  at  last,  "  how  can  shoes  see, 
they've  no  eyes,  missy?" 

"  But  you  can  fancy  they  have.  Don't  you  ever 
play  in  your  mind  at  fancying?  "  asked  Peggy.  "  I 
think  it's  the  nicest  part  of  being  alive,  and  mamma 
says  it's  no  harm  if  we  keep  remembering  it's  not 
real.  But  never  mind  about  that  —  do  look  at  the 
hills,  Sarah,  and  oh,  can  you  see  the  white  speck 
shining  in  the  sun  ?  That's  the  cottage  —  I  call  it 
my  cottage,  but  p'raps"  rather  unwillingly,  "  it's  the 
one  your  papa  lived  in  when  he  was  little." 

"  D'ye  really  think  so  ? "  said  Sarah,  eagerly. 
"  It's  Brackenshire  over  there  to  be  sure,  and  father's 
'ome  was  up  an  'ill  —  deary  me,  to  think  as  it  might 


"  SOAP-BUBBLING."  139 

be  the  very  place.  See  it  —  to  be  sure  I  do,  as  plain 
as  plain.  It  do  seem  a  good  bit  off,  but  father  he  says 
it's  no  more'n  a  tidy  walk.  He's  almost  promised 
he'll  take  some  on  us  there  some  fine  day  when 
he's  an  'oliday.  I  axed  'im  all  I  could  think  of  — 
missy  —  all  about  the  cocks  and  'ens  and  cows  and 
pigses." 

"  Not  pigs,"  interrupted  Peggy.  "  I  don't  like 
pigs,  and  I  won't  have  them  in  my  cottage." 

"I  wasn't  a-talking  of  your  cottage,"  said  Sarah, 
humbly.  "  'Twas  what  father  told  us  of  all  the 
things  he  seed  in  the  country  when  he  were  a  boy 
there.  There's  lots  of  pigses  in  Brackenshire." 

"Never  mind.  We  won't  have  any,"  persisted 
Peggy.  "  But  oh,  Light  Smiley,  do  look  how  splen- 
did the  sky  is  —  all  blue  and  all  so  shiny.  I  never 
sawed  such  a  lovely  day.  I  would  so  like  to  go  a 
walk." 

"  And  why  shouldn't  you  ?  "  asked  Sarah. 

"  There's  no  one  to  take  me,"  sighed  Peggy. 
"  It's  Monday,  and  Fanny's  very  busy  on  Mondays, 
and  I  told  you  that  tiresome  Miss  Earnshaw's  not 
corned." 

Sarah  considered  a  little. 

"  Tell  you  what,  missy,"  she  said,  "  why  shouldn't 
we — you  and  me  —  go  a  walk?  I'm  sure  mother'd 
let  me.  I've  got  my  'at,  all  'andy,  and  I  did  say  to 
mother  if  so  as  missy  seed  me  I  might  stop  a  bit,  and 
she  were  quite  agreeable.  I'm  a  deal  older  nor  you, 


140  PEGGY:   A   NURSERY   STORY. 

and  I  can  take  care  of  you  nicely.  Mother's  training 
me  for  the  iiussery." 

Peggy  started  up  in  delight.  She  had  been  half 
sitting  on  the  window-sill,  beside  the  shoes. 

"Oh,  Light  Smiley,"  she  said,  "how  lovely!  Of 
course  you  could  take  care  of  me.  We'd  go  up 
Fernley  Road,  straight  up  — that's  the  way  to  Brack- 
enshire,  you  know,  and  p'raps  we  might  go  far 
enough  to  see  the  white  cottage  plainer.  If  it's  not 
a  very  long  way  to  get  there,  we'd  be  sure  to  see  it 
much  plainer  if  we  walked  a  mile  or  two.  A  mile 
isn't  very  far.  Oh,  do  let's  go  —  quick  !  quick  !  " 

But  Sarah  stopped  her. 

"  You'd  best  tell  your  folks  first,  missy,"  she  said. 
"  They'll  let  you  go  and  be  glad  of  it,  I  should  say, 
if  they're  so  busy,  and  seein'  as  they  let  you  come 
over  to  our  'ouse,  and  your  mar  knowin'  us  and  all." 

"It  was  Miss  Earnshaw  that  let  me  go,"  said 
Peggy,  "and  then  she  said  she  didn't  know  I'd 
goned.  And  Thor  said  —  oh  no,  he  only  said  I 
shouldn't  have  goned  to  the  shop.  But  I'll  ask 
Fanny  —  I'll  tell  you  what  I'll  do.  I'll  put  on  my 
boots  and  my  hat  and  jacket — you  shall  help  me, 
Sarah,  and  then  we'll  go  down  and  I'll  call  to  Fanny 
from  the  top  of  the  kitchen  stairs  and  ask  her  if  I 
may  go  out  with  you,  Sarah,  dear.  I'm  sure  she'll 
say  I  may." 

So  the  two  little  maidens  went  into  the  night 
nursery,  where  Light  Smiley  was  greatly  interested 


141 

in  looking  at  her  own  dwelling-place  from  other 
people's  windows,  and  quite  in  her  element  too,  see- 
ing that  she  was  being  trained  for  the  nursery,  in 
getting  out  Peggy's  walking  things,  buttoning  her 
boots,  and  all  the  rest  of  it. 


CHAPTER   XI. 

UP   FERNLEY    KOAD. 

"But  the  way  is  long  and  toilsome, 

And  the  road  is  drear  and  hard  ; 
Little  heads  and  hearts  are  aching, 
Little  feet  with  thorns  are  scarred." 

THE  CHILDREN'S  JOURNEY. 

LIGHT  SMILEY  kept  looking  round  the  room  with 
great  satisfaction. 

"  It  is  nice  in  'ere  and  no  mistake,"  she  said  at  last. 
"  Your  'ats  and  coats  and  frocks  all  in  a  row,  as  neat 
as  neat,  and  these  little  white  beds  a  sight  to  be  seen. 
I  should  love  for  Rebecca  and  Matilda-Jane  to  see  it." 

"  They  will,"  said  Peggy,  "  when  I  avite  you  all  to 
a  tea-party,  you  know." 

Sarah  drew  a  deep  breath.  A  tea-party  in  these 
beautiful  nurseries  seemed  almost  -too  good  ever  to 
come  true. 

"  Is  there  a  many  nusseries  as  nice  as  this  'un,  do 
you  think,  missy?  I  do  'ope  as  I'll  get  into  a  nice 
one  when  I'm  big  enough.  One  'ud  take  a  pride  in 
keeping  it  clean  and  tidy." 

"  I  don't  think  this  is  at  all  a  grand  one,"  Peggy 
replied.  "  Mamma's  was  much  grander  when  she 
was  little,  I  know.  But,  of  course,  she's  very  per- 
tickler,  and  so's  nurse,  about  it  being  very  tidy." 

142 


UP   FERNLEY   KOAD.  143 

And  then,  Peggy  being  ready,  the  quaint  pair  of 
friends  took  each  other's  hands  and  set  off  to  the  top 
of  the  kitchen  stairs. 

"Should  we  take  the  huraberellar ? "  said  Sarah, 
suddenly  stopping  at  the  foot  of  the  first  little  flight 
of  stairs.  "  I  don't  think  it  looks  any  ways  like  rain, 
still  one  never  knows,  and  I  can  carry  it  easy." 

In  her  heart  she  hoped  Peggy  would  say  yes. 
For  to  Sarah's  eyes  the  clumsy  umbrella  was  a  very 
"  genteel "  one  indeed,  and  she  felt  as  if  it  would  add 
distinction  to  their  appearance. 

Peggy,  not  looking  at  it  from  this  point  of  view, 
hesitated. 

"  P'raps  it  would  do  to  keep  the  sun  off  us,"  she 
said.  "  My  parasol's  wored  out,  so  I  can't  take  it. 
Mamma's  going  to  get  me  a  new  one." 

Sarah  ran  back  and  fetched  the  umbrella. 

When  they  got  to  the  door  at  the  top  of  the 
kitchen  stairs,  Peggy  opened  it  and  called  down 
softly,  "  Fanny,  are  you  there  ?  Can  you  hear  me  ?  " 
for  she  was  not  allowed  to  go  down  to  the  kitchen 
by  herself. 

But  no  one  answered.  Fanny  was  busy  washing 
in  the  back  kitchen  with  both  doors  shut  to  keep 
in  the  steam,  and  the  cook  had  gone  out  to  the 
butcher's. 

"  Fanny,"  called  Peggy  again. 

Then  a  voice  came  at  last  in  return. 

"  Is  it  anything  I  can  tell  the  cook  when  she  comes 


144  PEGGY:  A  NURSERY  STORY. 

in,  please,  miss  ?  "  and  a  boy  came  forward  out  of  the 
kitchen  and  stood  at  the  foot  of  the  steep  stone  stairs. 
"  I'm  the  baker's  boy,  and  I  met  cook  and  she  told 
me  to  wait;  she'd  be  back  with  change  to  pay  the 
book  in  a  minute.  There's  no  one  here." 

Peggy  turned  to  Sarah  in  distress. 

"  Fanny  must  be  out  too,"  she  said. 

"Well,  it'll  be  all  right  if  the  boy  'ull  tell  her, 
won't  it,  missy?  'Tisn't  the  cook,"  she  went  on, 
speaking  to  the  boy  herself,  "  'tis  t'other  one.  Jest 
you  tell  her  when  she  comes  in  that  miss  has  gone 
out  a  little  walk  with  me  —  Sarah  Simpkins  —  she'll 
know.  I'll  take  good  care  of  missy." 

"All  right,"  said  the  boy,  with  no  doubt  that  so 
it  was,  and  thinking,  if  he  thought  at  all,  that  Sarah 
Simpkins  must  be  a  little  nurse-girl,  or  something  of 
the  kind  about  the  house,  though  certainly  a  small 
specimen  to  be  in  service  !  He  whistled  as  he  turned 
away,  and  something  in  the  cheerful  sound  of  his 
whistle  helped  to  satisfy  Peggy  that  all  was  right ! 

"  He's  a  nice  boy,"  she  said  to  Sarah.  "  He  won't 
forget,  will  he?" 

"Not  he,"  Sarah  replied.  "He'll  tell  'em  fast 
enough.  And  as  like  as  not  we'll  meet  'em  along 
the  street  as  we  go.  Is  Webb's  your  butcher,  missy 
—  'tis  just  at  the  corner  of  Fernley  Road  ?  " 

Peggy  shook  her  head. 

"  I  don't  know,"  she  said,  feeling  rather  ashamed 
of  her  ignorance  ;  "  but  I'd  like  to  meet  Fanny,  so, 
pelease,  let  us  go  that  way." 


UP  FERNLEY  EOAD.  145 

And  off  the  two  set,  by  the  front  door  this  time, 
quite  easy  in  their  minds,  though,  as  far  as  they 
knew,  the  baker's  boy  was  the  only  guardian  of  the 
house. 

They  trotted  down  the  street  in  the  sunshine ;  it 
was  very  bright  and  fine  —  the  air,  even  there  in  the 
smoky  town,  felt  this  morning  deliciously  fresh  and 
spring-like. 

"How  nice  it  is,"  said  Peggy,  drawing  a  deep 
breath;  "it's  just  like  summer.  I'd  like  to  go  a 
quite  long  walk,  wouldn't  you,  Sarah?" 

Light  Smiley  looked  about  her  approvingly. 

"Yes,"  she  said,  "I  does  enjoy  a  real  fine  day. 
And  in  the  country  it  must  be  right-down  fust-rate." 

"  Oh,  the  country  !  "  said  Peggy  ;  "  oh  dear,  how  I 
do  wish  we  could  go  as  far  as  the  country !  " 

"  Well,"  said  Sarah,  "  if  we  walk  fast  we  might 
come  within  sight  of  it.  There's  nice  trees  and 
gardings  up  Fernley  Road,  and  that's  a  sort  of  coun- 
try, isn't  it,  missy  ?  " 

They  were  at  the  corner  of  the  road  by  this  time, 
but  there  was  no  sign  of  Fanny  or  cook.  "  Webb's  " 
shop  stood  a  little  way  down  the  other  side,  but  as 
far  as  they  could  see  it  was  empty. 

"  P'raps  your  folk  don't  deal  there,"  said  Sarah,  to 
which  Peggy  had  nothing  to  say,  and  they  stood  look- 
ing about  them  in  an  uncertain  kind  of  way. 

"  We  may  as  well  go  on  a  bit,"  said  Sarah  at  last, 
"  that  there  boy's  sure  to  tell." 


146  PEGGY:    A   NURSERY   STORY. 

Peggy  had  no  objection,  and  they  set  off  along 
Fernley  Road  at  a  pretty  brisk  pace. 

They  had  not  very  far  to  go  before,  as  Sarah  said, 
the  road  grew  less  town-like ;  the  houses  had  little 
gardens  round  them,  some  of  which  were  prettily 
kept,  and  after  a  while  they  came  to  a  field  or  two, 
not  yet  built  upon,  though  great  placards  stuck  up 
on  posts  told  that  they  were  waiting  to  be  sold  for 
that  purpose.  They  were  very  towny  sort  of  fields 
certainly,  still  the  bright  spring  sunshine  made  the 
best  of  them  as  of  everything  else  this  morning,  and 
the  two  children  looked  at  them  with  pleasure. 

"  There's  nicer  fields  still,  a  bit  farther  on,"  said 
Sarah.  "  I've  been  along  this  'ere  road  several  times. 
It  goes  on  and  on  right  into  the  country." 

"  I  know,"  said  Peggy,  "  it  goes  on  into  the  country 
of  the  mountings.  But,  Sarah,"  she  said,  stopping 
short,  and  looking  rather  distressed,  "  I  don't  think 
we  see  them  any  plainer  than  from  the  nursery 
window,  and  the  white  cottage  doesn't  look  even  as 
plain.  Are  you  sure  we're  going  the  right  way? " 

"  We  couldn't  go  wrong,"  answered  Sarah,  "there's 
no  other  way.  But  we've  come  no  distance  yet, 
missy,  and  you  see  there's  ups  and  downs  in  the 
road  that  comes  between  us  and  the  'ills  somehow. 
I  suppose  at  the  window  we  could  see  straight- 
forward-like,  and  then  we  was  'igher  up." 

"  Yes,  that  must  be  it,"  said  Peggy ;  "  but  I  would 
like  to  go  far  enough  to  see  a  little  plainer,  Sarah, 


UP   FERNLEY  ROAD.  147 

wouldn't  you  ?  I've  got  the  red  shoes  in  my  pocket, 
you  know,  and  when  we  come  to  a  place  where  we 
can  see  very  nice  and  clear  I'll  take  them  out  and 
let  them  see  too." 

"  Lor',"  said  Sarah,  "  you  are  funny,  missy." 

But  she  smiled  so  good-naturedly  that  Peggy  did 
not  mind. 

After  a  bit  they  came  to  a  place  where  another 
road  crossed  the  one  they  were  on.  This  other  road 
was  planted  with  trees  along  one  side,  and  the  shade 
they  cast  looked  cool  and  tempting. 

"  I  wish  we  could  go  along  that  way,"  said  Peggy, 
"  but  it  would  be  the  wrong  way.  It  doesn't  go  on 
to  the  mountings." 

Sarah  did  not  answer  for  a  minute.  She  was 
trying  to  spell  out  some  letters  that  were  painted  up 
on  the  corner  of  a  wall,  which  enclosed  the  garden 
of  a  house  standing  in  the  road  they  were  looking 
down. 

"  4  B,  R,  A,'  "  she  began,  "  '  B,  R,  A,  C,  K : '  it's  it, 
just  look,  missy.  Bain't  that  Brackenshire  as  large 
as  life?  'Brackenshire  Road.'  It  must  be  this 
way,"  and  she  looked  quite  delighted. 

"But  how  can  it  be?"  objected  Peggy.  "This 
road  doesn't  go  to  the  hills,  Sarah.  They're  straight 
in  front." 

"But  maybe  it  slopes  round  again  after  a  bit," 
said  Sarah.  "  Lots  of  roads  does  that  way,  and  runs 
the  same  way  really,  though  you  wouldn't  think  so 


148         PEGGY:  A  NURSERY  STORY. 

at  the  start.  It  stands  to  reason,  when  it's  got  the 
name  painted  up,  it  must  lead  Brackenshire  way ; " 
and  then  suddenly,  as  a  man  with  a  basket  on  his 
arm  appeared  coming  out  of  one  of  the  houses,  she 
darted  up  to  him. 

"Please,  mister,  does  this  road  lead  to  Bracken- 
shire  ?  "  she  asked. 

The  man  did  not  look  very  good-natured. 

"  Lead  to  where  ?  "  he  said,  gruffly. 

"  To  Brackenshire  —  it's  painted  up  on  the  wall, 
but  we  want  to  be  sure." 

"  If  it's  painted  up  on  the  wall,  what's  the  sense 
of  askin'  me?"  he  said.  "If  you  go  far  enough  no 
doubt  you'll  get  there.  There's  more'n  one  road  to 
Brackenshire." 

Sarah  was  quite  satisfied. 

"You  see,"  she  said  to  Peggy,  running  back  to 
her,  "  it's  all  right.  If  we  go  along  this  'ere  road  a 
bit,  I  'specs  it'll  turn  again  and  then  we'll  see  the 
'ills  straight  in  front." 

Peggy  had  no  objection.  Fernley  Road  was  bare 
and  glaring  just  about  there,  and  the  trees  were  very 
tempting. 

"  It's  really  getting  like  the  country,"  said  Peggy, 
as  they  passed  several  pretty  gardens,  larger  and 
much  prettier  than  the  small  ones  in  Fernley  Road. 

"  Yes,"  Light  Smiley  agreed,  "  but  though  gardings 
is  nice,  I  don't  hold  with  gardings  anything  like  as 
much  as  fields.  Fields  is  splendid  where  you  can 


UP   FERNLEY   ROAD.  149 

race  about  and  jump  and  do  just  as  you  like,  and  no 
fears  of  breakin'  flowers  or  nothink." 

"Do  you  think  we  shall  come  to  fields  like  that 
soon  ?  "  said  Peggy.  "  If  there  was  a  very  nice  one 
we  might  go  into  it  p'raps  and  rest  a  little,  and  look 
at  the  mountings.  I  wish  we  could  begin  to  see  the 
mountings  again,  Sarah,  it  seems  quite  strange  with- 
out them,  and  I'm  getting  rather  tired  of  looking  at 
gardens  when  we  can't  go  inside  them,  aren't  you  ?  " 

Sarah  was  feeling  very  contented  and  happy. 
She  was,  though  a  little  body  for  her  age,  much 
stronger  than  Peggy,  as  well  as  two  years  older,  and 
she  looked  at  her  companion  with  surprise  when  she 
began  already  to  talk  of  "  resting." 

"Lor',  missy,  you  bain't  tired  already,"  she  was 
beginning,  when  she  suddenly  caught  sight  of  some- 
thing which  made  her  interrupt  herself.  This  was 
another  road  crossing  the  one  they  were  on  at  right 
angles,  and  running  therefore  in  the  same  direction 
as  Fernley  Road  again.  "  'Ere's  our  way,"  she  cried, 
"now  didn't  I  tell  you  so?  And  this  way  goes 
slopin'  up  a  bit,  you  see.  When  we  get  to  the  top 
we'll  see  the  'ills  straight  'afore  us,  and  'ave  a 
beeyutiful  view." 

Peggy's  rather  flagging  steps  grew  brisker  at  this, 
and  the  two  ran  gaily  along  the  new  road  for  a  little 
way.  But  running  uphill  is  tiring,  and  it  seemed  to 
take  them  a  long  time  to  get  to  the  top  of  the  slope, 
and  when  they  did  so,  it  was  only  to  be  disappointed. 


150  PEGGY:    A   NURSERY   STORY. 

Neither  mountains  nor  hills  nor  white  cottage  were 
to  be  seen,  only  before  them  a  rather  narrow  sort  of 
lane,  sloping  downwards  now  and  seeming  to  lead 
into  some  rather  rough  waste  ground,  where  it  ended. 
Peggy's  face  grew  rather  doleful,  but  Sarah  was 
quite  equal  to  the  occasion.  A  little  down  the  hill 
she  spied  a  stile,  over  which  she  persuaded  Peggy  to 
climb.  They  found  themselves  in  a  potato  field,  but 
a  potato  field  with  a  path  down  the  middle ;  it  was 
a  large  field  and  at  the  other  end  of  the  path  was  a 
gate,  opening  on  to  a  cart  track  scarcely  worthy  the 
name  of  a  lane.  The  children  followed  it,  however, 
till  another  stile  tempted  them  again,  this  time  into 
a  little  wood,  where  they  got  rather  torn  and 
scratched  by  brambles  and  nettles  as  they  could  not 
easily  find  a  path,  and  Sarah  fancied  by  forcing  their 
way  through  the  bushes  they  would  be  sure  to  come 
out  on  to  the  road  again. 

It  was  not,  however,  till  they  had  wandered  back- 
wards among  the  trees  and  brambles  for  some  time 
that  they  got  on  to  a  real  path,  and  they  had  to  walk 
a  good  way  along  this  till  they  at  last  came  on 
another  gate,  this  time  sure  enough  opening  into  the 
high  road. 

Sarah's  spirits  recovered  at  once. 

"'Ere  we  are,"  she  said  cheerfully,  "all  right. 
'Ere's  Fernley  Road  again.  Nothink  to  do  but  to 
turn  round  and  go'  ome  if  you're  tired,  missy.  I'm 
riot  tired,  but  if  you'd  rayther  go  no  farther  —  " 


UP   FERNLEY  ROAD.  151 

Peggy  did  not  answer  for  a  moment;  she  was 
staring  about  her  on  all  sides.  The  prospect  was  not 
a  very  inviting  one  ;  the  road  was  bare  and  ugly, 
dreadfully  dusty,  and  there  was  no  shade  anywhere, 
and  at  a  little  distance  some  great  tall  chimneys 
were  to  be  seen,  the  chimneys  of  some  iron-works, 
from  which  smoke  poured  forth.  There  were  a  good 
many  little  houses  near  the  tall  chimneys,  they  were 
the  houses  of  the  people  who  worked  there,  but  they 
were  not  sweet  little  cottages  such  as  Peggy  dreamed 
of.  Indeed  they  looked  more  like  a  very  small  ugly 
town,  than  like  rows  of  cottages  on  a  country  road. 

"  This  isn't  a  pretty  road  at  all,"  said  Peggy  at 
last,  rather  crossly  I  am  afraid,  "it  is  very  nugly, 
and  you  shouldn't  have  brought  me  here,  Sarah.  I 
can't  see  the  mountings ;  they  is  quite  goned  away, 
more  goned  away  than  when  it  rains,  for  then  they're 
only  behind  the  clouds.  This  isn't  Fernley  Road, 
Light  Smiley.  I  do  believe  you've  losted  us,  and 
Peggy's  so  tired,  and  very,  very  un'appy." 

It  was  Peggy's  way  when  she  grew  low-spirited  to 
speak  more  babyishly  than  usual ;  at  such  times  it  was 
too  much  trouble  to  think  about  being  a  big  girl. 
Poor  Sarah  looked  dreadfully  distressed. 

"  Oh,  missy  dear,  don't  cry,"  she  said.  "  If  it 
bain't  Fernley  Road,  it's  a  road  anyway,  and  there's 
no  call  to  be  frightened.  We  can  ax  our  way,  but 
I'd  rayther  not  ax  it  at  the  cottages,  for  they  might 
think  I  was  a  tramp  that'd  stoled  you  away." 


152  PEGGY:   A  NURSEKY   STORY. 

"And  what  would  they  do  then?"  asked  Peggy, 
leaving  off  crying  for  a  minute. 

"They'd  'av  me  up  mebbe,  and  put  us  in  the 
lock-ups." 

"What's  that?" 

"The  place  where  the  pl'ice  leaves  folk  as  they 
isn't  sure  about." 

"Prison,  do  you  mean?"  said  Peggy,  growing 
very  pale. 

"  Well,  not  ezackly,  but  somethin'  like." 

Peggy  caught  hold  of  Sarah  in  sudden  terror. 

"  Oh  come  along,  Light  Smiley,  quick,  quick. 
Let's  get  back  into  the  fields  and  hide  or  anything. 
Oh  come  quick,  for  fear  they  should  catch  us."  And 
she  tugged  at  Sarah,  trying  to  drag  her  along  the 
road. 

"Stop,  missy,  don't  take  on  so;  there's  no  need. 
We'll  just  go  along  quietly  and  no  one'll  notice  us, 
only  you  stop  crying,  and  then  no  one'll  think  any 
'arm.  We'll  not  go  back  the  way  we  came,  it's  so 
drefful  thorny,  but  we'll  look  out  for  another  road  or 
a  path.  I  'spects  you're  right  enough  —  this  'ere 
bain't  Fernley  Road." 

Peggy  swallowed  down  her  sobs. 

"  I  don't  think  you  look  quite  big  enough  to  have 
stolened  me,  Sarah,"  she  said  at  last.  "  But  I  would 
like  to  get  back  into  the  fields  quick.  If  only  we 
could  see  the  mountings  again,  I  wouldn't  be  quite 
so  frightened." 


UP   BERKLEY   ROAD.  158 

They  had  not  gone  far  before  they  came  upon 
a  gateway  and  a  path  leading  through  a  field  where 
there  seemed  no  difficulties.  Crossing  it  they  found 
themselves  at  the  edge  of  .the  thorny  wood,  which 
they  skirted  for  some  way.  Peggy's  energy,  born  of 
fear,  began  to  fail. 

"  Sarah,"  she  said  at  last,  bursting  into  fresh  tears, 
"  Peggy  can't  go  no  farther,  and  I'm  so  hungry  too. 
I'm  sure  it's  long  past  dinner-time.  You  must  sit 
down  and  rest;  p'raps  if  I  rested  a  little,  I  wouldn't 
feel  so  very  un'appy." 

Sarah  looked  at  her  almost  in  despair.  She  her- 
self was  worried  and  vexed,  very  afraid  too  of  the 
scolding  which  certainly  awaited  her  at  home,  but 
she  was  not  tired  or  dispirited,  though  very  sorry 
for  Peggy,  and  quite  aware  that  it  was  she  and  not 
"  missy  "  who  was  to  blame  for  this  unlucky  expedi- 
tion. 

"  I'd  like  to  get  on,"  she  said,  "  we're  sure  to  get 
back  into  a  road  as'll  take  us  'ome  before  long. 
Couldn't  I  carry  you,  missy  ?  " 

"  No,"  said  Peggy,  "  you're  far  too  little.  And 
I  can't  walk  any  more  without  resting.  You're  very 
unkind,  Light  Smiley,  and  I  wish  I'd  never  seen 

you." 

Poor  Sarah  bore  this  bitter  reproach  in  silence. 

She  looked  about  for  a  comfortable  seat  in  the 
hedge,  and  settled  herself  so  that  Peggy  could  rest 
against  her.  The  sunshine,  though  it  had  seemed 


154  PEGGY:   A  NURSERY  STORY. 

hot  and  glaring  on  the  bare  dusty  road  was  not 
really  very  powerful,  for  it  was  only  late  April, 
though  a  very  summerlike  day.  Peggy  left  off 
crying  and  said  no  more,  but  leant  contentedly 
enough  against  Sarah. 

"I'm  comfable  now,"  she  said,  closing  her  eyes. 
"  Thank  you,  Light  Smiley.  I'll  soon  be  rested,  and 
then  we'll  go  on." 

But  in  a  moment  or  two,  by  the  way  she  breathed, 
Sarah  saw  that  she  had  fallen  asleep. 

"  Bless  us,"  thought  the  little  guardian  to  herself, 
"  she  may  sleep  for  hours.  Whatever  'ull  I  do  ? 
She's  that  tired  —  and  when  she  wakes  she'll  be  that 
'ungry,  there'll  be  no  getting  her  along.  She'll  be 
quite  faint-like.  If  I  dared  leave  her,  I'd  run  on  till 
I  found  the  road  and  got  somebody  to  'elp  carry 
her.  But  I  dursn't.  If  she  woked  up  and  me  gone, 
she'd  be  runnin'  who  knows  where,  and  mebbe  never 
be  found  again.  Poor  missy  —  it'll  be  lock-ups  and 
no  mistake,  wusser  I  dessay  for  me,  and  quite  right 
too.  Mother'll  never  say  I'm  fit  for  a  nussery  after 
makin'  sich  a  fool  of  myself." 

And  in  spite  of  her  courage,  the  tears  began  to 
trickle  down  Sarah's  face.  Peggy  looked  so  white 
and  tiny,  lying  there  almost  in  her  arms,  that  it 
made  her  heart  ache  to  see  her.  So  she  shut  her 
own  eyes  and  tried  to  think  what  to  do.  And  the 
thinking  grew  gradually  confused  and  mixed  up 
with  all  sorts  of  other  thinkings.  Sarah  fancied  she 


J  at  last,  though   5n*  WAS  ri2\\y  so 
and  distrtssid,  tins  cjuifct  Anol  tni  mild  aur^nd 
th*    idUntss    p2.rh<xf>s,  to  wlnicli  noni  of  tKi  Simp: 
kin5   -fas.YYiily  wm    rnucK    ajccustotnid,  a*.ll  joint d 
togithif  and  by  ol^ri^s    Kuslniol   poor    J-ig^t 
Smilty  to  skip,  htr  arms    cl^spid  |     f 

Tound  P^g^y  **  'I  tQ  prottct  ^^^   V  ! 

Ktr  -from  £\ny    possibk  ^p^\\ 


p.  i55 


UP   FERNLEY   EOAD.  155 

heard  her  mother  calling  her,  and  she  tried  to 
answer,  but  somehow  the  words  would  not  come. 

And  at  last,  though  she  was  really  so  anxious 
and  distressed,  the  quiet  and  the  mild  air,  and  the 
idleness  perhaps,  to  which  none  of  the  Simpkins 
family  were  much  accustomed,  all  joined  together 
and  by  degrees  hushed  poor  Light  Smiley  to  sleep, 
her  arms  clasped  round  Peggy  as  if  to  protect  her 
from  any  possible  danger. 

It  would  have  been  a  touching  picture,  had  there 
been  any  one  there  to  see.  Unluckily,  not  merely 
for  the  sake  of  the  picture,  but  for  that  of  the 
children  themselves,  there  was  no  one. 


CHAPTER  XII. 

THE   SHOES-LADY  AGAIN. 

"I'll  love  you  through  the  happy  years, 
Till  I'm  a  nice  old  lady." 

POEMS   WRITTEN   FOR    A    CHILD. 

WHEN  they  woke,  both  of  them  at  the  same 
moment  it  seemed,  though  probably  one  had  roused 
the  other  without  knowing  it,  the  sun  had  gone,  the 
sky  looked  dull,  it  felt  chilly  and  strange.  Peggy 
had  thought  it  must  be  past  dinner-time  before  they 
had  sat  down  to  rest ;  it  seemed  now  as  if  it  must 
be  past  tea-time  too ! 

Sarah  started  up,  Peggy  feebly  clinging  to  her. 

"  Oh  dear,  dear,"  said  Sarah,  "  I  shouldn't  have 
gone  to  sleep,  and  it's  got  that  cold  I "  She  was 
shivering  herself,  but  Peggy  seemed  much  the  worse 
of  the  two.  She  was  white  and  pinched  looking, 
and  as  if  she  were  half  stupefied. 

"  I'm  so  cold,"  she  said,  "  and  so  hungry.  I 
thought  I  was  in  bed  at  home.  I  do  so  want  to  go 
home.  I'm  sure  it's  very  late,  Light  Smiley;  do 
take  me  home." 

"  I'm  sure,  missy,  it's  what  I  want  to  do,"  said 
poor  Sarah.  *'  I'm  afeared  it's  a-going  to  rain,  and 

156 


THE   SHOES-LADY   AGAIN.  157 

whatever  'ull  we  do  then  ?  You  wouldn't  wait  'ere 
a  minute,  would  you,  while  I  run  to  see  if  there's  a 
road  near  ?  " 

"  No,  no,"  said  Peggy,  "  I  won't  stay  alone.  I'm 
very,  very  frightened,  Light  Smiley,  and  I  think  I'm 
going  to  die." 

"  Oh  Lor',  missy,  don't  you  say  that,"  said  Sarah, 
in  terror.  "  If  you  can't  walk  I'll  carry  you." 

"  I'll  try  to  walk,"  said  Peggy,  picking  up  some 
spirit  when  she  saw  Sarah's  white  face. 

And  then  the  two  set  off  again,  dazed  and  miser- 
able, very  different  from  the  bright  little  pair  that 
had  started  up  Fernley  Road  that  morning. 

Things,  however,  having  got  to  the  worst,  began  to 
mend,  or  at  least  were  beginning  to  mend  for  them, 
though  Peggy  and  Sarah  did  not  just  yet  know  it. 
Not  far  from  the  edge  of  the  field  where  they  were, 
a  little  bridle-path  led  into  a  lane,  and  a  few  yards 
down  this  lane  brought  them  out  upon  Fernley  Road 
again  at  last. 

"  I  see  the  mountings,"  cried  Peggy,  "  oh  Light 
Smiley,  Peggy  sees  the  mountings.  P'raps  we  won't 
die,  oh,  p'raps  we'll  get  home  safe  again." 

But  though  she  had  been  trying  to  be  brave,  now 
that  she  began  to  hope  again,  it  was  too  much  for 
her  poor  little  nerves  —  Peggy  burst  into  loud  sob- 
bing. 

"  Oh,  dear  missy,  try  not  to  cry,"  said  Sarah. 
"  There  —  there  —  where's  your  hankercher  ?  "  and 


158         PEGGY:  A  NURSERY  STORY. 

she  dived  into  Peggy's  pocket  in  search  of  it.  And 
as  she  pulled  it  out,  out  tumbled  at  the  same  time 
the  two  little  scarlet  shoes,  falling  on  the  ground. 

"  Oh  Light  Smiley,  my  red  shoes.  They'll  be  all 
spoilt  and  dirtied,"  said  Peggy,  as  well  as  she  could, 
for  Sarah  was  dabbing  the  handkerchief  all  over  her 
face. 

Sarah  stooped  to  pick  them  up  ;  both  children 
were  too  much  engaged  to  notice  the  sound  of  wheels 
coming  quickly  along  the  quiet  road.  But  the  sight 
of  a  speck  of  dirt  on  one  of  the  shoes  set  Peggy  off 
crying  again,  and  she  cried  for  once  pretty  loudly. 
The  wheels  came  nearer,  and  then  stopped,  and  this 
made  Sarah  look  round.  A  pony-carriage  driven  by 
a  lady  had  drawn  up  just  beside  them.  The  groom, 
sitting  behind,  jumped  down,  though  looking  as  if  he 
he  did  not  know  what  he  was  to  do. 

"  What  is  the  matter,  little  girls  ?  "  said  the  lady. 

"  It's,  please 'm  —  we've  lost  our  road  —  it's  all 
along  o'  me,  mum  —  but  I  didn't  mean  no  'arm,  only 
missy's  that  wore  out 'm,  and  —  "but  before  Sarah 
could  get  farther,  she  was  stopped  by  a  sort  of  cry 
from  both  the  lady  and  Peggy  at  once. 

"  Oh,  oh,"  called  out  Peggy,  "  it's  the  shoes-lady 
—  oh,  pelease,    pelease,    take    me    home,"   and    she 
seemed  ready  to  dart  into  the  lady's  arms. 

"  I  do  believe,"  she  said,  "  I  do  believe  it's  the 
little  girl  I  saw  at  the  bootmaker's,  and  —  yes,  of 
course  it  is  —  there  are  the  shoes  themselves  !  My 


THE   SHOES-LADY   AGAIN.  159 

dear  child,  whatever  are  you  doing  to  be  so  far  from 
home  —  at  least  I  suppose  you  live  in  the  town  ?  - 
and  what  have  you  got  the   dolly's  shoes   with  you 
for?" 

"  I  brought  them  for  them  to  see  the  mountings 
and  the  white  cottage,"  sobbed  Peggy ;  "  but  I'm  so 
cold  and  hungry,  pelease  take  me  home,  oh,  pelease, 
do." 

The  lady  seemed  rather  troubled.  Even  if  she 
had  not  remembered  Peggy,  she  would  have  seen  in 
a  moment  that  she  was  a  little  lady,  though  Peggy 
looked  miserable  enough  with  her  torn  clothes,  and 
scratched  and  tear-stained  face. 

"  Poor  child,"  she  said,  "  tell  me  your  name,  and 
where  you  live." 

"  I'm  Peggy,  but  I  don't  'amember  my  nother 
name,  'cos  I'm  tired  and  it's  very  long,"  she  said. 

The  lady  looked-  at  Sarah.  Sarah  shook  her 
head. 

"  No,  mum,  I  don't  know  it  neither,  but  I  knows 
the  name  of  the  street.  'Tis  Bernard  Street  'm  —  off 
Fernley  Road,  and  their  back  winders  looks  over  to 
us.  We're  Simpkinses 'm,  and  missy's  mar  knows 
as  we're  'speckable,  and  mother  she  never  thought 
when  she  told  me  to  take  back  the  humberellar,  as 
I'd  lead  missy  sich  a  dance.  I'll  never  do  for  the 
nussery,  no  never.  I'm  not  steady  enough,"  and 
here  Light  Smiley  gave  signs  of  crying  herself. 

It  was  not  easy  for  the  lady  to  make  out  the  story, 


160  PEGGY:  A  NURSERY  STORY. 

but  by  degrees,  with  patience  she  did  so.  But  while 
talking  she  had  lifted  Peggy  into  the  carriage  beside 
her,  and  wrapped  her  up  in  a  shawl  that  lay  on  the 
seat,  Peggy  nestling  in,  quite  contentedly. 

"  Now,"  said  the  lady,  "  you  get  in  too,  Sarah 
Simpkins,  and  I'll  drive  you  both  home.  I  was  on 
my  way  home  out  into  the  country,  but  I  can't  leave 
you  here  on  the  road.  This  is  Fernley  Road,  but  it's 
quite  four  miles  from  the  town." 

In  scrambled  Sarah,  divided  between  fear  of  her 
own  and  Peggy's  relations'  scoldings  when  they  got 
home,  and  the  delight  and  honour  of  driving  in  a 
carriage !  The  groom  would  have  liked  to  look 
grumpy,  I  am  quite  sure,  but  he  dared  not.  Peggy, 
for  her  part,  crept  closer  and  closer  to  the  lady,  and 
ended  by  falling  asleep  again,  so  that  it  was  a  good 
thing  Light  Smiley  was  sitting  on  the  other  side,  to 
keep  her  from  falling  out. 

The  four  miles  seemed  very  short  to  Sarah,  and 
as  they  got  into  the  outskirts  of  the  town  her  face 
grew  longer  and  longer. 

"  I'm  more'n  half  a  mind  to  run  away,  I  'ave,"  she 
said  to  herself,  quite  unaware  she  was  speaking 
aloud.  "It'll  be  more'n  I  can  stand,  mother  and 
Rebecca  and  all  on  'em  down  on  me,  for  I  didn't 
mean  no  'arm.  I'd  best  run  away." 

The  lady  turned  to  her,  hitherto  she  had  not  taken 
much  notice  of  Sarah,  but  now  she  felt  sorry  for  the 
little  girl. 


THE   SHOES-LADY   AGAIN.  161 

"  What  are  you  saying,  my  dear  ?  "  she  said  gently, 
though  all  the  same  her  voice  made  Sarah  jump. 
"Are  you  afraid  of  going  home?  You  have  not 
done  anything  naughty,  exactly,  as  far  as  I  under- 
stand. It  was  only  thoughtless.  I  will  go  with  you 
to  your  home  if  you  like,  and  explain  to  your  mother 
how  it  was." 

"  Oh  thank  you,  mum,"  said  Sarah,  eagerly,  her 
spirits  rising  again  at  once  ;  "  you  see,  mum,  I  do  so 
want  to  be  in  the  nussery  onst  I'm  big  enough,  and 
I  was  so  afeared  mother'd  never  think  of  it  again. 
I  only  wanted  to  please  little  missy,  for  she  seemed 
so  lonely  like,  her  mar  and  all  bein'  away  and  no  one 
for  to  take  her  a  walk.  She's  a  sweet  little  missy, 
she  is,  but  she's  only  a  baby,  so  to  say ;  she  do  have 
such  funny  fancies.  'Twas  all  to  see  the  cottage  on 
the  'ills  she  wanted  to  come  up  Fernley  Road  so 
badly." 

"  The  cottage  —  what  cottage  ?  "  asked  the  lady. 

Sarah  tried  to  explain,  and  gradually  the  lady  got 
to  understand  what  little  Peggy  had  meant  about 
bringing  the  red  shoes  "to  see  the  mountings  and 
the  cottage." 

"  She's  always  a-talking  of  the  country,  and  father 
lived  there  when  he  was  a  boy,  and  missy  had  got  it 
in  her  'ead  that  he  lived  in  a  white  cottage,  like  the 
one  she  fancies  about,"  Sarah  went  on. 

"  I  would  like  to  take  her  out  into  the  real  coun- 
try, poor  little  pet,"  said  the  lady,  looking  tenderly 


162  PEGGY:  A  NURSERY  STORY. 

at  the  sweet  tiny  face  of  the  sleeping  child.  She 
loved  all  children,  but  little  girls  of  Peggy's  age 
were  especially  dear  to  her,  for  many  years  before 
she  had  had  a  younger  sister  who  had  died,  and  the 
thought  of  her  had  come  into  her  mind  the  first  time 
she  had  seen  Peggy  at  the  door  of  the  shoe  shop. 
"  If  I  can  see  any  of  her  friends  I  will  ask  them 
to  let  her  spend  a  day  with  me,"  she  went  on,  speak- 
ing more  to  herself  than  to  Sarah. 

As  they  turned  into  Bernard  Street  a  cab  dashed 
past  them  coming  very  fast  from  the  opposite  direc- 
tion. It  drew  up  in  front  of  the  house  which  Sarah 
was  just  that  moment  pointing  out  to  the  lady  as 
Peggy's  home,  and  a  gentleman,  followed  by  a  young 
woman,  sprang  out.  The  door  was  opened  almost  as 
soon  as  they  rang,  and  then  the  three,  the  other  ser- 
vant who  had  answered  the  bell,  the  young  woman 
and  the  gentleman,  all  stood  together  on  the  steps 
talking  so  anxiously  and  eagerly  that  for  a  moment 
or  two  they  did  not  notice  the  pony-carriage,  and 
though  the  groom  knew  the  whole  story  by  this  time 
and  had  jumped  down  at  once,  he  was  far  too  proper 
to  do  anything  till  he  had  his  lady's  orders. 

"Ask  the  gentleman  to  speak  to  me,"  said  the 
lady,  "  and  you  jump  out,  little  Sarah.  I  think  he 
must  be  Peggy's  father.  " 

He  had  turned  round  by  this  time  and  came  hurry- 
ing forward.  The  moment  the  lady  saw  him  she 
knew  she  had  guessed  right.  He  was  so  like  Peggy 


THE  SHOES-LADY  AGAIN.  163 

—  fair  and  gray-eyed,  and  with  the  same  gentle 
expression,  and  very  young  looking  to  be  the  father 
not  only  of  Peggy,  but  of  big  little  boys  like  Thor 
and  Terry.  His  face  looked  pale  and  anxious,  but 
the  moment  he  caught  sight  of  the  little  sleeping 
figure  leaning  against  the  lady  it  all  lighted  up  and 
a  red  flush  came  into  his  cheeks. 

"  Oh  —  thank  God,"  he  exclaimed,  "  my  little 
Peggy  !  You  have  found  her !  How  good  of  you  ! 
But  —  she  is  not  hurt  ?  —  she  is  all  right  ?  " 

"  Yes  —  yes  —  only  cold  and  hungry  and  tired," 
said  the  lady  eagerly,  for  Peggy  did  look  rather  mis- 
erable still.  "  Will  you  lift  her  out  ?  "  and  as  he  did 
so,  she  got  out  herself,  and  turned  to  Sarah.  "  May 
I  bring  this  other  child  in  for  a  moment,"  she  said, 
"and  then  I  can  explain  it  all?" 

Sarah  folloAved  gladly,  but  a  sudden  thought  struck 
her,  "  Please  'm,"  she  said,  bravely,  though  the  tears 
came  to  her  eyes  as  she  spoke,  "  p'raps  I'd  best  run 
'ome ;  mother'll  be  frightened  about  me." 

"  But  I  promised  you  should  not  be  scolded,"  said 
the  lady ;  "  stay,"  and  she  turned  to  Fanny,  "  she 
lives  close  to,  she  says." 

uAt  the  back  —  over  the  cobbler's,"  said  Sarah, 
readily. 

"Can  you  let  her  mother  know  she's  all  right, 
then?  And  say  I  am  coming  to  speak  to  her  in  a 
moment,"  said  the  lady,  and  Fanny  went  off.  She 
had  been  so  terrified  about  Peggy,  and  so  afraid  that 


164  PEGGY:  A  NURSERY  STORY. 

she  would  be  blamed  for  carelessness,  that  she  dared 
not  wait,  though  she  was  dying  with  curiosity  to 
know  the  whole  story  and  what  one  of  the  Simpkins 
children  could  have  had  to  do  with  it. 

Peggy  awoke  by  the  time  her  father  had  got  her 
into  the  dining-room,  where  cook  had  made  a  good 
fire  and  laid  out  Peggy's  dinner  and  tea  in  one  to 
be  all  ready,  for  the  poor  woman  had  been  hoping 
every  instant  for  the  last  few  hours  that  the  little 
girl  would  be  brought  home  again.  It  had  been 
difficult  to  find  Peggy's  father,  as  he  was  not  at  his 
office,  and  Fanny  had  been  there  two  or  three  times 
to  fetch  him. 

"  Oh  dear  papa,"  were  Peggy's  first  words,  "  I'm 
so  glad  to  be  home.  I'll  never  go  up  Fernley  Road 
again ;  but  I  did  so  want  to  see  the  cottage  and  the 
mountings  plainer.  And  it  wasn't  Light  Smiley's 
fault.  She  was  very  good  to  me,  and  I  was  very 
cross." 

This  did  not  much  clear  up  matters.  Indeed 
Peggy's  papa  was  afraid  for  a  minute  or  two  that  his 
little  girl  was  going  to  have  a  fever,  and  that  her 
mind  was  wandering.  But  all  such  fears  were  soon 
set  at  rest,  and  when  the  lady  went  off  with  Sarah, 
she  left  Peggy  setting  to  work  very  happily  at  her 
dinner  or  tea,  she  was  not  sure  which  to  call  it. 

"And  you  will  let  her  come  to  spend  the  day 
with  me  to-morrow?"  said  the  lady,  as  she  shook 
hands  with  Peggy's  father.  "  I  shall  be  driving  this 


THE   SHOES-LADY   AGAIN.  165 

way,  and  I  can  call  for  her.  I  should  not  be  happy 
not  to  know  that  she  was  none  the  worse  for  her 
adventures  to-day." 

Then  the  lady  took  Sarah  by  the  hand  and  went 
round  with  her  to  her  home  in  the  back  street,  telling 
the  groom  to  wait  for  her  at  the  corner. 

It  was  well  she  went  herself,  for  otherwise  I  am 
afraid  poor  Light  Smiley  would  not  have  escaped 
the  scolding  she  dreaded.  Her  mother  and  sisters 
had  been  very  unhappy  and  frightened  about  her, 
and  when  people  —  especially  poor  mothers  like  Mrs. 
Simpkins,  with  "  so  many  children  that  they  don't 
know  what  to  do"  —  are  anxious  and  frightened,  I 
have  often  noticed  that  it  makes  them  very  cross. 

As  it  was,  however,  the  lady  managed  to  smooth 
it  all  down,  and  before  she  left  she  got  not  only 
Sarah's  mother,  but  Rebecca  and  Mary-Hann  and  all 
of  them  to  promise  to  say  no  more  about  it. 

"'Tisn't  only  for  myself  I  was  feelin'  so  put  about, 
you  see,  ma'am,"  said  Mrs.  Simpkins,  "but  when  I 
sent  over  the  way  and  found  the  little  missy  was  not 
to  be  found  it  flashed  upon  me  like  a  lightenin' 
streak  —  it  did  that,  ma'am  —  that  the  two  was  off 
together.  And  if  any  'arm  had  come  to  the  little 
lady  through  one  of  mine,  so  to  say,  it  would  'ave 
gone  nigh  to  break  my  'art.  For  their  mar  is  a 
sweet  lady  —  a  real  feelin'  lady  is  their  mar." 

"  And  a  kind  friend  to  you,  I  dare  say,"  said  the 
stranger. 


166         PEGGY:  A  NURSERY  STORY. 

"Couldn't  be  a  kinder  as  far  as  friendly  words 
and  old  clotheses  goes,"  said  Mrs.  Simpkins.  "  But 
she's  a  large  little  fam'ly  of  her  own,  and  not  so  very 
strong  in  'ealth,  and  plenty  to  do  with  their  money. 
And  so  to  speak  strangers  in  the  place,  though  she 
'ave  said  she'd  do  her  best  to  get  a  place  in  a  nice 
fam'ly  for  one  of  my  girls." 

The  lady  glanced  at  the  group  of  sisters. 

"  Yes,"  she  said,  "  I  should  think  you  could  spare 
one  or  two.  How  would  you  like  to  be  in  a 
kitchen?"  she  added,  turning  to  Rebecca. 

The  girl  blushed  so  that  her  face  matched  her 
arms,  and  she  looked  more  "  reddy  "  than  ever.  But 
she  shook  her  head. 

"  I'm  afraid  —  "  she  began. 

"No,  ma'am,  thank  you  kindly,  but  I  couldn't 
spare  Rebecca,"  the  mother  interrupted.  "  If  it  were 
for  Mary-Hann  now  —  Matilda-Jane's  coming  on  and 
could  take  her  place.  Only,  for  I  couldn't  deceive 
you,  ma'am,  she's  rather  deaf." 

"  I  shouldn't  mind  that,"  said  the  lady,  who  was 
pleased  by  Mary-Ann's  bright  eyes  and  pleasant  face. 
"I  think  deaf  people  sometimes  work  better  than 
quick-hearing  ones,  besides,  it  may  perhaps  be  cured. 
I  will  speak  about  her  to  my  housekeeper  and  let 
you  know.  And  you,  Sarah,  you  are  to  be  in  the 
nursery  some  day." 

Sarah  grinned  with  delight. 

"  Not  just  yet,"  said  Mrs.  Simpkins ;  "  she  'ave  a 


THE   SHOES-LADY   AGAIN.  167 

deal  to  learn,  'ave  Sarah.  Schooling  and  stiddiness 
to  begin  with.  She  don't  mean  no  'arm,  I'll  allow." 

"  No ;  I'm  sure  she  wants  to  be  a  very  good  girl," 
said  the  lady.  "  She  was  very  kind  and  gentle  to 
little  Miss  Peggy.  So  I  won't  forget  you  either, 
Sarah,  when  the  time  comes." 

And  then  the  lady  said  good-bye  to  them  all,  and 
Mrs.  Simpkins's  heart  felt  lighter  than  for  long,  for  she 
was  sure  that  through  this  new  friend  she  might  get 
the  start  in  life  she  had  been  hoping  for,  for  her  many 
daughters. 

Peggy  slept  off  her  fatigue,  and  by  the  next  morn- 
ing she  was  quite  bright  again  and  able  to  listen  to 
and  understand  papa's  explanation  of  how,  though 
without  meaning  to  be  disobedient,  she  had  done 
wrong  the  day  before  in  setting  off  with  Sarah  Simp- 
kins  as  she  had  done.  Two  or  three  tears  rolled 
slowly  down  her  cheeks  as  she  heard  what  he  said. 

"  I  meant  to  be  so  good  while  mamma  was  away," 
she  whispered.  "  But  I'll  never  do  it  again,  papa. 
I'll  stay  quiet  in  the  nursery  all  alone,  even  if  Miss 
Earnshaw  doesn't  come  back  at  all." 

For  a  message  had  come  from  the  dressmaker  that 
her  mother  was  very  ill,  as  Fanny  had  feared,  and 
that  she  was  afraid  she  would  not  be  able  to  leave 
her  for  several  days. 

"  It  won't  be  so  bad  as  that,  dear,"  said  her  father. 
"  Mamma  will  be  back  in  five  days  now,  and  I  don't 
think  you  are  likely  to  be  left  alone  in  the  nursery 


168         PEGGY:  A  NURSERY  STORY. 

—  certainly  not  to-day ;  "  and  then  he  told  her  about 
the  lady  having  asked  her  to  spend  the  day  out  in 
the  country  with  her,  and  that  Peggy  must  be  ready 
by  twelve  o'clock,  not  to  keep  her  new  friend  waiting. 

Peggy's  eyes  gleamed  with  delight. 

"Out  into  the  country?"  she  said.  "Oh,  how 
lovely !  And  oh,  papa,  do  you  think  p'raps  she  lives 
in  a  white  cottage  ?  " 

Papa  shook  his  head. 

"I'm  afraid  it's  not  a  cottage  at  all  where  she 
lives,"  he  said.  "  But  I'm  sure  it  is  a  very  pretty 
house,  and  let  us  hope  it  is  a  white  one." 

"  No,"  said  Peggy,  "  you  don't  understand,  papa  — 
not  as  well  as  mamma  does.    I  don't  care  what  colour 
it  is  if  it's  only  an  'ouse." 

And  she  couldn't  understand  why  papa  laughed 
so  that  he  really  couldn't  correct  her.  "  I'm  afraid, 
Peggy,"  he  said,  "you've  been  taking  lessons  from 
little  Miss  Simpkins.  It's  time  mamma  came  home 
again  to  look  after  you." 

"  Yes,  I  wish  mamma  was  come  home  again,"  said 
Peggy.  "  We  can't  do  without  her,  can  we,  papa  ?  " 

But  when  the  dear  little  pony  carriage  came  up 
to  the  door,  and  Peggy  got  in  and  drove  off  with  her 
kind  friend,  she  was  so  happy  that  she  had  not  even 
time  to  wish  for  mamma. 

And  what  a  delightful  day  she  had !  The  lady's 
house  was  very  pretty,  and  the  gardens  and  woods 
in  which  it  stood  even  prettier  in  Peggy's  opinion. 


THE   SHOES-LADY  AGAIN.  169 

And  though  it  was  not  a  cottage,  there  were  all  the 
country  things  to  see  which  Peggy  was  so  fond  of  — 
cocks  and  hens,  and  cows,  and  in  one  field  lots  of 
sheep  and  sweet  little  lambkins.  There  were  pigs 
too,  which  Peggy  would  not  look  at,  but  ran  away  to 
the  other  end  of  the  yard  as  soon  as  she  heard  them 
"  grumphing,"  which  amused  the  lady  very  much. 
And  in  the  afternoon  she  went  a  walk  with  her  friend 
through  the  village,  where  there  were  several  pretty 
cottages,  but  none  that  quite  fitted  Peggy's  fancy. 
When  they  came  in  again  Peggy  stood  at  the  drawing- 
room  window,  which  looked  out  towards  Bracken- 
shire,  without  speaking. 

"  You  like  that  view,  don't  you,  dear  ?  "  said  the 
lady.  "  You  can  see  the  hills  ?  " 

"  Yes,"  said  Peggy,  "  I  can  see  the  mountings,  but 
not  the  white  cottage.  It's  got  turned  wrong  some- 
how, from  here.  I  can  only  see  it  from  the  nursery 
window  at  home,"  and  she  gave  a  very  little  sigh. 

"  Some  day,"  said  the  lady,  "  some  day  in  the  sum- 
mer when  the  afternoons  are  very  long,  I  will  drive 
you  right  out  a  long  way  among  the  hills,  and  perhaps 
we'll  find  the  cottage  then.  For  I  hope  your  mamma 
will  often  let  you  come  to  see  me,  my  little  Peggy." 

"Yes,"  said  Peggy,  "that  would  be  lovely.  I 
wonder  if  we'd  find  the  white  cottage." 

No,  they  never  did !  The  sweet  long  summer  days 
came,  and  many  a  bright  and  happy  one  Peggy  spent 
with  her  kind  friend,  but  they  never  found  the  white 


170  PEGGY:   A   NURSERY   STORY. 

cottage  on  the  hill.  Peggy  knew  it  so  well  in  her 
mind,  she  felt  she  could  not  mistake  it,  but  though 
she  saw  many  white  cottages  which  any  one  else 
might  have  thought  was  it,  she  knew  better.  And 
each  time,  though  she  sighed  a  little,  she  hoped  again. 

But  before  another  summer  came  round  Peggy 
and  her  father  and  mother,  and  Thor,  and  Terry,  and 
Hal,  and  Baldwin,  and  Baby  had  all  gone  away  —  far 
away  to  the  south,  many  hours'  journey  from  the 
dingy  town  and  the  Fernley  Road,  and  the  queer  old 
house  in  the  back  street  where  lived  the  cobbler  and 
old  Mother  Whelan  and  Brown  Smiley  and  Light 
Smiley  and  all  the  rest  of  them.  Far  away  too  from 
the  hills  and  the  strange  white  speck  in  the  distance 
which  Peggy  called  her  cottage. 

So  it  never  was  more  than  a  dream  to  her  after  all, 
and  perhaps  —  perhaps  it  was  best  so  ?  For  nothing 
has  ever  spoilt  the  sweetness  and  the  mystery  of  the 
childish  fancy  —  she  can  see  it  with  her  mind's  eye 
still — the  soft  white  speck  on  the  far-away,  blue  hills 
—  she  can  see  it  and  think  of  it  and  make  fancies 
about  it  even  now  —  now  that  she  has  climbed  a  long, 
long  way  up  the  mountain  of  life,  and  will  soon  be 
creeping  slowly  down  the  other  side,  where  the  sun 
still  shines,  however,  and  there  are  even  more 
beautiful  things  to  hope  for  than  the  sweetest  dreams 
of  childhood. 

THE   END. 


A   NEW    UNIFORM    EDITION 


OF 


MRS.  MOLESWORTH'S 

STORIES    FOR    CHILDREN 

WITH 

ILLUSTRATIONS  BY  WALTER  CRANE  AND  LESLIE  BROOKE, 


In  Ten  Volumes.     i2mo.    Cloth.    One  Dollar  a  Volume. 


Tell  Me  a  Story,  and  Herr  Baby. 
'"Carrots,"  and  A  Christmas  Child. 

•^Grandmother  Dear,  and  Two  Little  Waifs. 
^The  Cuckoo  Clock,  and  The  Tapestry  Room. 

Christmas-Tree  Land,  and  A  Christmas  Posy. 
""The  Children  of  the  Castle,  and  Four  Winds  Farm. 

"  -Little  Miss  Peggy,  and  Nurse  Heatherdale's  Story , 
"Us,"  and  The  Rectory  Children. 
Rosy,  and  The  Girls  and  I. 
Mary. 


THE  SET,  TEN  YOLUMES,  IN  BOX,  $10.00. 


"  It  seems  to  me  not  at  all  easier  to  draw  a  lifelike  child  than  to  draw  a  lifelike  man 
or  woman :  Shakespeare  and  Webster  were  the  only  two  men  of  their  age  who  could 
do  it  with  perfect  delicacy  and  success;  at  least,  if  there  was  another  who  could,  I 
must  crave  pardon  of  his  happy  memory  for  my  forgetfulness  or  ignorance  of  his 
name.  Our  own  age  is  more  fortunate,  on  this  single  score  at  least,  having  a  larger 
and  far  nobler  proportion  of  female  writers;  among  whom,  since  the  death  of  George 
Eliot,  there  is  none  left  whose  touch  is  so  exquisite  and  masterly,  whose  love  is  so 
thoroughly  according  to  knowledge,  whose  bright  and  sweet  invention  is  so  fruitful, 
so  truthful,  or  so  delightful  as  Mrs.  Molesworth's.  Any  chapter  of  The  Cuckoo  Clock 
or  the  enchanting  Adventures  of  Herr  Baby  is  worth  a  shoal  of  the  very  best  novels 
dealing  with  the  characters  and  fortunes  of  mere  adults."  —  MRS.  A.  C.  SWINBURNE, 
in  The  Nineteenth  Century. 

MACMILLAN   &    CO., 

66  FIFTH  AVENUE,   NEW  YORK. 

I 


MRS.  MOLESWORTH'S 
STORIES    FOR   CHILDREN. 


"There  is  hardly  a  better  author  to  put  into  the  hands  of  children  than  Mrs. 
Molesworth.  I  cannot  easily  speak  too  highly  of  her  work.  It  is  a  curious  art  she 
has,  not  wholly  English  in  its  spirit,  but  a  cross  of  the  old  English  with  the  Italian. 
Indeed,  I  should  say  Mrs.  Molesworth  had  also  been  a  close  student  of  the  German 
and  Russian,  and  had  some  way,  catching  and  holding  the  spirit  of  all,  created  a 
method  and  tone  quite  her  own.  .  .  .  Her  characters  are  admirable  and  real."  —  St. 
Louis  Globe  Democrat. 

"  Mrs.  Molesworth  has  a  rare  gift  for  composing  stories  for  children.  With  a 
light,  yet  forcible  touch,  she  paints  sweet  and  artless,  yet  natural  and  strong,  charac- 
ters."—  Congr egationalist. 

"  Mrs.  Molesworth  always  has  in  her  books  those  charming  touches  of  nature 
that  are  sure  to  charm  small  people.  Her  stories  are  so  likely  to  have  been  true  that 
men  'grown  up'  do  not  disdain  them."  —  Home  Journal. 

"  No  English  writer  of  childish  stories  has  a  better  reputation  than  Mrs.  Moles- 
worth,  and  none  with  whose  stories  we  are  familiar  deserves  it  better.  She  has  a 
motherly  knowledge  of  the  child  nature,  a  clear  sense  of  character,  the  power  of 
inventing  simple  incidents  that  interest,  and  the  ease  which  comes  of  continuous 
practice."  —  Mail  and  Express. 

"  Christmas  would  hardly  be  Christmas  without  one  of  Mrs.  Molesworth's  stories. 
No  one  has  quite  the  same  power  of  throwing  a  charm  and  an  interest  about  the 
most  commonplace  every-day  doings  as  she  has,  and  no  one  has  ever  blended  fairy- 
land and  reality  with  the  same  skill." —  Educational -Times. 

"Mrs.  Molesworth  is  justly  a  great  favorite  with  children;  her  stories  for  them 
are  always  charmingly  interesting  and  healthful  in  tone."  —  Boston  Home  Journal. 

"  Mrs.  Molesworth's  books  are  cheery,  wholesome,  and  particularly  well  adapted  to 
refined  life.  It  is  safe  to  add  that  Mrs.  Molesworth  is  the  best  English  prose  writer 
for  children.  .  .  .  Anew  volume  from  Mrs.  Molesworth  is  always  a  treat." — The 
Beacon. 

"  No  holiday  season  would  be  complete  for  a  host  of  young  readers  without  a  volume 
from  the  hand  of  Mrs.  Molesworth.  ...  It  is  one  of  the  peculiarities  of  Mrs. 
Molesworth's  stories  that  older  readers  can  no  more  escape  their  charm  than  younger 
ones."  —  Christian  Union. 

"  Mrs.  Molesworth  ranks  with  George  Macdonald  and  Mrs.  Ewing  as  a  writer  of 
children's  stories  that  possess  real  literary  merit."  —  Milwaukee  Sentinel. 


THE  SET,  TEN  VOLUMES,    IN  BOX,   $10.00. 


MACMILLAN    &   CO., 

66  FIFTH  AVENUE,    NEW   YORK. 
2 


TELL  ME   A   STORY,    and   HERR   BABY. 

"  So  delightful  that  we  are  inclined  to  join  in  the  petition,  and  we  hope  she  may 
soon  tell  us  more  stories."  —  Athenceum. 


"CARROTS";   Just  a  Little  Boy. 

"  One  of  the  cleverest  and  most  pleasing  stories  it  has  been  our  good  fortune  to 
meet  with  for  some  time.  Carrots  and  his  sister  are  delightful  little  beings,  whom  to 
read  about  is  at  once  to  become  very  fond  of."  —  Examiner. 


A  CHRISTMAS  CHILD ;  A  Sketch  of  a  Boy's  Life. 

"  A  very  sweet  and  tenderly  drawn  sketch,  with  life  and  reality  manifest  through- 
out." —  Pall  Mall  Gazette. 

"  This  is  a  capital  story,  well  illustrated.  Mrs.  Molesworth  is  one  of  those  sunny, 
genial  writers  who  has  genius  for  writing  acceptably  for  the  young.  She  has  the 
happy  faculty  of  blending  enough  real  with  romance  to  make  her  stories  very  practi- 
cal for  good  without  robbing  them  of  any  of  their  exciting  interest."  —  Chicago  Inter- 
Ocean. 

"Mrs.  Molesworth's  A  Christmas  Child  is  a  story  of  a  boy -life.  The  book  is  a 
small  one,  but  none  the  less  attractive.  It  is  one  of  the  best  of  this  year's  juveniles." 

—  Chicago  Tribune. 

"  Mrs.  Molesworth  is  one  of  the  few  writers  of  tales  for  children  whose  sentiment 
though  of  the  sweetest  kind  is  never  sickly  ;  whose  religious  feeling  is  never  concealed 
yet  never  obtruded  ;  whose  books  are  always  good  but  never  '  goody.'  Little  Ted 
with  his  soft  heart,  clever  head,  and  brave  spirit  is  no  morbid  presentment  of  the 
angelic  child  '  too  good  to  live,'  and  who  is  certainly  a  nuisance  on  earth,  but  a 
charming  creature,  if  not  a  portrait,  whom  it  is  a  privilege  to  meet  even  in  fiction." 

—  The  A  cademy. 


MACMILLAN    &   CO., 

66  FIFTH  AVENUE,   NEW  YORK. 
3 


THE   CUCKOO   CLOCK. 

"  A  beautiful  little  story.  ...     It  will  be  read  with  delight  by  every  child  into 
whose  hands  it  is  placed."  —  Pall  Mall  Gazette, 


GRANDMOTHER   DEAR. 

"  The  author's  concern  is  with  the  development  of  character,  and  seldom  does  one 
meet  with  the  wisdom,  tact,  and  good  breeding  which  pervades  this  little  book."  — 
Nation. 


TWO   LITTLE   WAIFS. 

"  Mrs.  Molesworth's  delightful  story  of  Two  Little  Waifs  will  charm  all  the  small 
people  who  find  it  in  their  stockings.  It  relates  the  adventures  of  two  lovable  Eng- 
lish children  lost  in  Paris,  and  is  just  wonderful  enough  to  pleasantly  wring  the  youth- 
ful heart." —  New  York  Tribune. 

"  It  is,  in  its  way.  indeed,  a  little  classic,  of  which  the  real  beauty  and  pathos  can 
hardly  be  appreciated  by  young  people.  ...  It  is  not  too  much  to  say  of  the  story 
that  it  is  perfect  of  its  kind."  —  Critic  and  Good  Literature. 

"  Mrs.  Molesworth  is  such  a  bright,  cheery  writer,  that  her  stories  are  always 
acceptable  to  all  who  are  not  confirmed  cynics,  and  her  record  of  the  adventures  of 
the  little  waifs  is  as  entertaining  and  enjoyable  as  we  might  expect." — Boston 
Courier. 

"  Two  Little  Waifs  by  Mrs.  Molesworth  is  a  pretty  little  fancy,  relating  the  adven- 
tures of  a  pair  of  lost  children,  in  a  style  full  of  simple  charm.  It  is  among  the  very 
daintiest  of  juvenile  books  that  the  season  has  yet  called  forth  ;  and  its  pathos  and 
humor  are  equally  delightful.  The  refined  tone  and  the  tender  sympathy  with  the 
feelings  and  sentiments  of  childhood,  lend  it  a  special  and  an  abiding  charm."  —  Bos- 
ton Saturday  Evening  Gazette. 

"  This  is  a  charming  little  juvenile  story  from  the  pen  of  Mrs.  Molesworth, 
detailing  the  various  adventures  of  a  couple  of  motherless  children  in  searching  for 
their  father,  whom  they  had  missed  in  Paris  where  they  had  gone  to  meet  him."  — 
Montreal  Star. 

"  Mrs.  Molesworth  is  a  popular  name,  not  only  with  a  host  of  English,  but  with  a 
considerable  army  of  young  American  readers,  who  have  been  charmed  by  her  deli- 
cate fancy  and  won  by  the  interest  of  her  style.  Two  Little  Waifs,  illustrated  by 
Walter  Crane,  is  a  delightful  story,  which  comes,  as  all  children's  stories  ought  to  do, 
to  a  delightful  end."  —  Christian  Union. 


MACMILLAN   &    CO., 

66   FIFTH   AVENUE,   NEW   YORK. 
4 


THE   TAPESTRY   ROOM. 

"  Mrs.  Molesworth  is  the  queen  of  children's  fairy-land.  She  knows  how  to  make 
use  of  the  vague,  fresh,  wondering  instincts  of  childhood,  and  to  invest  familiar 
things  with  fairy  glamour."  —  Athenceum. 

"  The  story  told  is  a  charming  one  of  what  may  be  called  the  neo-fairy  sort.  .  .  . 
There  has  been  nothing  better  of  its  kind  done  anywhere  for  children,  whether  we 
consider  its  capacity  to  awake  interest  or  its  wholesomeness."  —  Evening  Post. 

"  Among  the  books  for  young  people  we  have  seen  nothing  more  unique  than  The 
Tapestry  Room.  Like  all  of  Mrs.  Molesworth's  stories  it  will  please  young  readers 
by  the  very  attractive  and  charming  style  in  which  it  is  written."  —  Presbyterian 
Journal. 

"  Mrs.  Molesworth  will  be  remembered  as  a  writer  of  very  pleasing  stories  for 
children.  A  new  book  from  her  pen  will  be  sure  of  a  welcome  from  all  the  young 
people.  The  new  story  bears  the  name  of  The  Tapestry  Room  and  is  a  child's 
romance.  .  .  .  The  child  who  comes  into  possession  of  the  story  will  count  himself 
fortunate.  It  is  a  bright,  wholesome  story,  in  which  the  interest  is  maintained  to 
the  end.  The  author  has  the  faculty  of  adapting  herself  to  the  tastes  and  ideas  of 
her  readers  in  an  unusual  way."  —  New  Haven  Paladium. 


CHRISTMAS-TREE   LAND. 

"  It  is  conceived  after  a  happy  fancy,  as  it  relates  the  supposititious  journey  of  a 
party  of  little  ones  through  that  part  of  fairy-land  where  Christmas-trees  are  sup- 
posed to  most  abound.  There  is  just  enough  of  the  old-fashioned  fancy  about  fairies 
mingled  with  the  '  modern  improvements '  to  incite  and  stimulate  the  youthful 
imagination  to  healthful  action.  The  pictures  by  Walter  Crane  are,  of  course,  not 
only  well  executed  in  themselves,  but  in  charming  consonance  with  the  spirit  of  the 
tale."—  Troy  Times. 

"  Christmas-Tree  Land,  by  Mrs.  Molesworth,  is  a  book  to  make  younger  readers 
open  their  eyes  wide  with  delight.  A  little  boy  and  a  little  girl  domiciled  in  a  great 
white  castle,  wander  on  their  holidays  through  the  surrounding  fir-forests,  and  meet 
with  the  most  delightful  pleasures.  There  is  a  fascinating,  mysterious  character  in 
their  adventures  and  enough  of  the  fairy-like  and  wonderful  to  puzzle  and  enchant  all 
the  little  ones."  —  Boston  Home  Journal. 


A   CHRISTMAS   POSY. 

"  This  is  a  collection  of  eight  of  those  inimitable  stories  for  children  which  none 
could  write  better  than  Mrs.  Molesworth.  Her  books  are  prime  favorites  with 
children  of  all  ages  and  they  are  as  good  and  wholesome  as  they  are  interesting  and 
popular.  This  makes  a  very  handsome  book,  and  its  illustrations  are  excellent."  — 
Christian  at  Work. 

"  A  Christmas  Posy  is  one  of  those  charming  stories  for  girls  which  Mrs  Moles- 
worth  excels  in  writing."  —  Philadelphia  Press. 

"  Here  is  a  group  of  bright,  wholesome  stories,  such  as  are  dear  to  children,  and 
nicely  tuned  to  the  harmonies  of  Christmas-tide.  Mr.  Crane  has  found  good  situ- 
ations for  his  spirited  sketches." —  Churchman. 

"  A  Christmas  Posy,  by  Mrs.  Molesworth,  is  lovely  and  fragrant.  Mrs.  Moles- 
worth  succeeds  by  right  to  the  place  occupied  with  so  much  honor  by  the  late  Mrs. 
Ewing,  as  a  writer  of  charming  stories  for  children.  The  present  volume  is  a  cluster 
of  delightful  short  stories.  Mr.  Crane's  illustrations  are  in  harmony  with  the  text." 
—  Christian  Intelligencer. 

MACMILLAN    &    CO., 

66  FIFTH  AVENUE,   NEW  YORK. 
5 


THE  CHILDREN  OF  THE  CASTLE. 

"  The  Children  of  the  Castle,  by  Mrs.  Molesworth,  is  another  of  those  delightful 
juvenile  stories  of  which  this  author  has  written  so  many.  It  is  a  fascinating  little 
book,  with  a  charming  plot,  a  sweet,  pure  atmosphere,  and  teaches  a  wholesome 
moral  in  the  most  winning  manner."  —  B.  S.  E.  Gazette. 

"  Mrs.  Molesworth  has  given  a  charming  story  for  children.  ...  It  is  a  whole- 
some book,  one  which  the  little  ones  will  read  with  interest."  —  Living  Church. 

"  The  Children  of  the  Castle  are  delightful  creations,  actual  little  girls,  living  in 
an  actual  castle,  but  often  led  by  their  fancies  into  a  shadowy  fairy-land.  There  is  a 
charming  refinement  of  style  and  spirit  about  the  story  from  beginning  to  end;  an 
imaginative  child  will  find  endless  pleasure  in  it,  and  the  lesson  of  gentleness  and 
unselfishness  so  artistically  managed  that  it  does  not  seem  like  a  lesson,  but  only  a 
part  of  the  story."  —  Milwaukee  Sentinel. 

"  Mrs.  Molesworth's  stories  for  children  are  always  ingenious,  entertaining,  and 
thoroughly  wholesome.  Her  resources  are  apparently  inexhaustible,  and  each  new 
book  from  her  pen  seems  to  surpass  its  predecessors  in  attractiveness.  In  The  Chil- 
dren of  the  Castle  the  best  elements  of  a  good  story  for  children  are  very  happily 
combined."  —  The  Week- 


FOUR   WINDS   FARM. 

"  Mrs.  Molesworth's  books  are  always  delightful,  but  of  all  none  is  more  charm- 
ing than  the  volume  with  which  she  greets  the  holidays  this  season.  Four  Winds 
Farm  is  one  of  the  most  delicate  and  pleasing  books  for  a  child  that  has  seen  the 
light  this  many  a  day.  It  is  full  of  fancy  and  of  that  instinctive  sympathy  with  child- 
hood which  makes  this  author's  books  so  attractive  and  so  individual."  —  Boston 
Courier. 

"  Like  all  the  books  she  has  written  this  one  is  very  charming,  and  is  worth 
more  in  the  hands  of  a  child  than  a  score  of  other  stories  of  a  more  sensational  char- 
acter."—  Christian  at  Work. 

"  Still  more  delicately  fanciful  is  Mrs.  Molesworth's  lovely  little  tale  of  the  Four 
Winds  Farm.  It  is  neither  a  dream  nor  a  fairy  story,  but  concerns  the  fortune  of  a 
real  little  boy,  named  Gratian ;  yet  the  dream  and  the  fairy  tale  seem  to  enter  into 
his  life,  and  make  part  of  it.  The  farm-house  in  which  the  child  lives  is  set  exactly 
at  the  meeting-place  of  the  four  winds,  and  they,  from  the  moment  of  his  birth,  have 
acted  as  his  self-elected  godmothers.  .  .  .  All  the  winds  love  the  boy,  and,  held  in 
the  balance  of  their  influence,  he  grows  up  as  a  boy  should,  simply  and  truly,  with 
a  tender  heart  and  firm  mind.  The  idea  of  this  little  book  is  essentially  poetical."  — 
Literary  World. 

"  This  book  is  for  the  children.  We  grudge  it  to  them.  There  are  few  children 
in  this  generation  good  enough  for  such  a  gift.  Mrs.  Molesworth  is  the  only  woman 
now  who  can  write  such  a  book.  .  .  .  The  delicate  welding  of  the  farm  life  about 
the  child  and  the  spiritual  life  within  him,  and  the  realization  of  the  four  immortals 
into  a  delightful  sort  of  half-femininity  shows  a  finer  literary  quality  than  anything 
we  have  seen  for  a  long  time.  The  light  that  never  was  on  sea  or  land  is  in  this 
little  red  and  gold  volume."  —  Philadelphia  Press. 


MACMILLAN   &   CO., 

66   FIFTH  AVENUE,  NEW  YORK. 
6 


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